


All Foam and Ice

by still_lycoris



Series: The Coffee Shop Liberator [3]
Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Humor, Coffee Shops, Multi, Past Violence, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-24
Updated: 2014-11-06
Packaged: 2018-02-06 02:07:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1840405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/still_lycoris/pseuds/still_lycoris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been six months since Avon began living with Blake in The Liberator Coffee Shop and on the whole, he seems to be surviving it. But Servalan is still waiting for her chance and faces from Avon and Blake's pasts cause problems. Can the staff of the Liberator stay united or will they fracture from the inside?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Avon!”

Avon briefly considered pretending he couldn’t hear Blake’s bellow but as this ploy hadn’t worked once in the six months of being in easy reach of said shout, it was probably not worth it. With the loudest sigh he could manage, he saved his work, pushed Zen gently off his lap and moved over to the stairs to glare down at the tyrant below.

“I am _working_ , Blake!”

“Yes, but I need you to go and buy milk.”

Avon briefly allowed himself a fantasy where Blake was entirely cowed by the glare Avon directed in his direction and crawled off to hide somewhere, thus letting Avon finish his spreadsheet in peace. It was only a fantasy. Blake just continued to stand there, staring at him expectantly.

“Do you remember Blake, that I said I would have nothing to do with the day to day running of your café? That I am _not_ your indentured servant and am only here to do my _own_ work?”

“Avon, we are _swamped_ in there and you are not. It will take you ten minutes to run out and buy some milk, as opposed to the twenty to thirty minutes it will take if you insist on having a massive argument with me. I’m going to hire somebody new before the real Christmas rush, I’ve already agreed to it. _Please_ just go.”

Avon was half-tempted to delay the process a bit just to see if he could make Blake say “please” again but decided against it. Instead, he gave Blake his best cool “I-am-saving-your-hide- _again_ -don’t-you-forget-it” look and walked down the stairs, holding out his hand for the money.

“ _Thank_ you,” Blake said, a little snappishly. Avon allowed himself a very small smile.

“How much milk do you want?”

“Oh, we’re not that far from the end of the day, two four pinters ought to do it. And Avon? I _am_ expecting the change.”

Avon gave him a mock-hurt look which Blake ignored. He stepped back into the main part of the building and Avon turned to move away, noticing as he did that it was raining outside. He should have checked that before agreeing to anything.

It had been six months since he’d somehow allowed himself to become Blake’s flatmate. Six months and Avon still couldn’t quite understand why he hadn’t just given up and stormed out yet. Blake had to be the most infuriating, aggravating man that anybody had ever been forced to share a space with.

Well. He was clean. And he cooked. And was rather good at shopping for communal food and not fretting about being paid back for it. And quite bad at actually remembering to collect rent which meant Avon was saving up more money than he’d thought he might. Plus there was free coffee and central heating and the fact that Avon was getting to own cats without actually having to, well, own the cats. Not that he _wanted_ to own the cats but he was willing to admit that listening to Zen purr was rather relaxing sometimes.

On the other hand, there was the fact that Blake kept asking him to do things for the damn coffee shop. And the fact that he didn’t take no for an answer very well. And the fact that he had made Avon dress up as a pumpkin for Halloween.

Avon’s only consolation was that the costume had entirely concealed his face. Nobody would ever, ever know it was him.

He ought to leave. He told himself that at least five times every day. But somehow, he hadn’t quite managed it yet.

He bought the milk and then headed back through the rainy streets. He was getting to know them now. Blake seemed to know everybody that lived and worked locally, was always talking about them. He kept trying to introduce them to Avon, another thing that drove Avon mad. He didn’t _need_ friends. 

He opened the Liberator’s back door and put the milk in the fridge. Blake greeted him with a glowing smile which other people seemed to find very attractive. Avon made a show of handing him his change and turned to head back up the stairs.

“Avon, wait!”

He blinked and turned around to find himself face to face with Cally. She wasn’t actually supposed to be working that day – one of the things Avon had insisted on doing was forcing Blake to actually write out a schedule so he knew when people were supposed to be working. Blake had grumbled about this far more than Avon considered necessary but he had eventually done it and it was making it much easier to work out the wages – and also easier for Avon to avoid certain people if he wasn’t in the mood for them.

Cally was smiling at him. Avon wasn’t quite sure if he ought to smile back or if he’d already left it too long and it would just look strange. He settled for a lip quirk and a small eyebrow raise, hoping that Cally would just say what she wanted so he could get back upstairs.

Cally didn’t seem too worried by his response. She continue to smile at him.

“Avon, I don’t think anybody has told you but … it is my birthday on Monday. I am going to have a celebration on Saturday, I always have a … gathering around the date. I would … like it very much if you came.”

She looked a little uncertain suddenly. Avon didn’t know what to say. He didn’t enjoy parties at all – too many people, too many ludicrous conversations and pretences and so much tedium. But he did rather like Cally. And she had asked him specially.

“You don’t have to decide now,” Cally said, her voice light. “But I thought that I would ask.”

She turned away and Avon moved quickly out of the room before anybody else could ask him awkward questions. He sat back down in front of the laptop, pulled Zen back onto his lap and idly scratched the cat’s ears, trying to think. He felt as though he ought to decide immediately, as though he ought to know and tell Cally now.

If he went, all the others would be there, most likely. Blake would probably be delighted to show how much he cared, Jenna liked Cally, Vila would never turn down a party and Gan … well, Avon didn’t really know what Gan thought. Gan was completely bewildering to him. At first, he just thought the man was very stupid but that didn’t seem to be the case. Avon just couldn’t get a grip on him. But Gan seemed “nice” and therefore, he would go to Cally’s party too. And probably other people. Cally doubtless had friends Avon didn’t know. Friends that she might want to introduce Avon to ... a depressing prospect.

If he went, did he have to bring her a present? He was terrible at buying presents, always had been. How were you supposed to know what people wanted anyway? They never seemed terribly pleased by the practical things that he would want. Life had generally been easier when he just didn’t have anybody to buy presents for.

Perhaps he just shouldn’t go.

He felt a bite on his ankle and looked down. Orac mewed and put his feet on Avon’s shoe.

“It is _not_ time to feed you yet. If you bite me again, I shall be cross with you.”

Orac yowled scoldingly and tried to climb up Avon’s leg. With a small sigh, Avon lifted him up too, held them both and went back to blankly staring at the computer screen. If he was going to go, he ought to make an effort, oughtn’t he? Wear something nice … did he _have_ anything nice? He hadn’t dressed up for a long time. Would the others dress up? Avon didn’t want to look … less good than the others. But was that really a good reason not to go? He could buy something …

“Avon?”

He scowled automatically, annoyed that Blake had managed to sneak up on him. Blake just gave him that cheerful smile.

“We’ve just closed up. Do you mind if Jenna eats in here tonight?”

“Why should I care, Blake?”

“I was hoping you might eat with us.”

“Will Jenna like that?”

Blake gave him a bewildered look, as though he couldn’t quite imagine why Jenna would object to Avon’s presence. Six months and Avon _still_ hadn’t really worked out if Blake and Jenna were having a relationship or not. He was fairly certain that neither of them were having relationships with anybody _else_ but if they were romancing each other, it was a strange romance. But then, Blake was a strange man. Anybody who chose him as a partner would have to put up with a _lot_.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll stay.”

Just to see what Jenna did, really. He didn’t care very much about the meal either way, except that he didn’t particularly want to go out that evening.

Jenna didn’t seem very bothered to see him. She nodded at him and plucked Zen off his lap for a cuddle. She was particularly fond of Zen and Zen always seemed hugely pleased to see her. He began to purr loudly and snuggled into Jenna contentedly. Avon rolled his eyes.

“Sorry Avon,” Jenna said with a grin. “He just loves me best.”

“That cat is a spoiled little beast,” Blake said. “And getting fat.”

“Orac’s looking a bit plump too,” Jenna said. “You’ll need to make your cats diet.”

Blake laughed. Avon watched him, wondering not for the first time how it was that Blake was … well, Blake. He was always so _happy_ , always so … contented. Caring for everybody. He had tried to coax Avon into coming to volunteer in the food bank with him on Sundays, something that Avon had refused. He always had an ear for people. How did he do it without going mad?

He didn’t ask. There was no point.

It was quite a fun evening really. He and Jenna squabbled peacefully while Blake listened and sometimes mediated if he thought they were going to get too cross. Blake always enjoyed listening to other people argue – not that he was unwilling to plunge in whenever he felt like it. Blake was the sort who sometimes interrupted strangers to give his opinion so Jenna and Avon’s irritations were hardly sacrosanct.

In the end, he went to bed, leaving Blake and Jenna alone to watch some dreadful reality show that they were both involved in. In the morning, there would be a lot of discussion about it which he would avoid. He was good at that.

He read for a while, allowing Orac and Zen to cuddle up to him in their usual positions. Now that Jenna had mentioned it, Orac _was_ getting a little plump. He rubbed the cat behind the ears. Would Cally like a cat? She sometimes mentioned feeling lonely in her flat, perhaps a pet … but no, that was ridiculous, you didn’t just buy somebody an animal without asking and people always got annoyed when he asked them what they wanted. You were just supposed to _know_.

He went to sleep and dreamed of uncomfortable parties filled with cats that refused to drink tea. Waking up was something of a relief and he got out of bed quickly.

Jenna was asleep on the sofa. Avon stared at her, finding that he was oddly uncomfortable. It occurred to him that one thing he and Blake had never discussed the issue of bringing others home in any context other than Blake’s various friends. The walls were fairly soundproof, it was unlikely you’d hear anything happening in the bedrooms, providing the coupling was quiet. But they’d simply never brought it up.

Avon felt … strange about it. He shoved it aside, a little cross with himself. What did it matter? The chances were, he would never invite anybody back and he _certainly_ didn’t care who Blake chose, as long as Blake was quiet about it.

He went into the kitchen and clattered plates loudly. A moment later, Jenna was staring at him with bleary, slightly indignant eyes.

“Good morning,” he said. “Do you want a cup of tea?”

“I want an extra hour of sleep. That sofa’s a nightmare. Are you cooking breakfast?”

He gave her a look which she returned with force. Well, that was Jenna for you. He shrugged and produced a box of cereal.

“So what will you buy Cally for her birthday?” he asked, trying to sound very casual and unconcerned.

“Oh, probably a book,” Jenna said, rummaging through the fridge. “She enjoys reading. Just need to make sure I don’t accidentally buy her something she already has – I think I’ll pop by and borrow a jacket or something, check the bookshelves while I’m there.”

Not completely helpful. Avon wondered what sort of books Cally liked. They’d never discussed books. He liked reading …

He frowned, feeling stupid. He didn’t even know if he wanted to go to this ridiculous party yet. Worrying about presents …

Blake shuffled out of his room, yawning. He smiled at them, apparently pleased to find them both up and talking. 

“Did you sleep all right?”

“I think I preferred staying the night when you had a bed free!” Jenna said with a laugh. “That couch isn’t the most comfortable thing to sleep on.”

Blake laughed too, put a hand on her shoulder and they began chatting again. Avon quietly sorted out his breakfast, watching them, wondering. 

“I’m going out today, Blake.”

“Are you?” Blake was using his mild voice. 

“Yes. I think you’ll find that my hours are up to date.”

Avon had introduced flexi-time to his work soon after moving in. Blake seemed fine with it but Avon was aware that Blake did look at the spreadsheet Avon kept to mark his hours. It interested him. Blake always gave the impression of such trust … it was good to see how far that went.

“Have a nice day then,” was all Blake said. “Oh, I’m bringing some people back tonight.”

“Which people?” Avon asked suspiciously.

“The Marxist group from last time.”

“I shall be out.”

The last time Blake had brought that particular group back, Avon had nearly ended up in a fist fight with one of the men and shouted himself hoarse at the others. Blake had commented later that he’d thought Avon was going to start a riot. Avon didn’t regret it. The people were ridiculously stupid and deserved to be shouted at. But if avoidable, it was probably best to do so.

His plan for the day was to find a present for Cally. It couldn’t possibly be that hard, not when he was out and looking. He’d have a pleasant lunch somewhere, perhaps see if there was anything worth watching in the cinema for the evening. It would be pleasant – and nice to be away from the café for a while.

Of course, first he had to buy a present. And perhaps a nice shirt. Just to be sure that he would look all right. At the party.

He seemed to be going to the damn thing.

He wandered the shops, quickly growing frustrated. He didn’t have a clue what to buy her. Something pretty? Cally wore pretty dresses but he couldn’t buy her a dress. Jewellery seemed very personal and rather expensive, he wasn’t going to buy her _cheap_ jewellery. What if he bought books she didn’t like? He loathed that himself …

For Anna’s birthday, he’d bought her sapphire earrings. They’d looked so beautiful on her and she’d been so happy, telling him she loved them and he’d promised diamonds for her next birthday …

 _Stupid_. He didn’t think about Anna like that, it only ever led to pain. Certainly not in public where people could see him, standing like a fool in the middle of a shop, hands clenched into fists as he tried not to remember how beautiful Anna was, how happy he had been with her, how lost he was now …

No. No, he was _not_ lost. He was in control, that was all that mattered. He didn’t need friends or lovers, not any more. It didn’t matter. It did not matter.

Bubble bath. He would buy Cally bubble bath. That would be fine. Why did it matter if it was an impersonal present? He hadn’t _asked_ her to invite him.

He headed for the nearest shop and looked vaguely at the different colours, trying to decide which one suited Cally the best. He finally picked out a green one, feeling that Cally would like the foresty colour and searched out a soap to match it. The shop also sold candles and on a whim, he purchased one of those too. Anna had sometimes liked to burn candles …

“Avon.”

He knew the voice at once and was annoyed that it sent a small thrill up his spine. Twisting, he looked down into Servalan’s beautiful, smiling face.

He hadn’t seen her in a long time. She hadn’t been coming to the Liberator, or even contacting them, which Avon saw as suspicious and Blake saw as proof that she’d realised he would never sell. Avon didn’t think someone like Servalan would ever give up so easily. Perhaps he was about to be proved right.

“It’s been a long time,” she said, smiling at him. “How lovely to bump into you. Who is the lucky woman?”

He frowned and she laughed in a sweet way that made him want to slap her. 

“Well, who else would you be buying bubble bath for? Ah, I know – it must be Cally! Her birthday is approaching, isn’t it?”

He allowed himself a quirk of a smile.

“It’s only a little inappropriate that you know that, of course.”

“Only a little,” she said. “Tell me, do you have plans? Perhaps we could have lunch?”

It would be a stupid idea. He knew that. Servalan … was confusing to him. Oh, he could see her for exactly what she was but somehow, it wasn’t off-putting to him. On the contrary, it was almost appealing to him. Something he knew Blake would never forgive.

But if he turned her down, she might think he was afraid. He didn’t want that.

“Why not?”

Servalan smiled at him and took his arm. Avon allowed it but kept his arm stiff in hers. He didn’t want her to get the wrong idea. Servalan didn’t seem worried at all. She walked him to a rather expensive looking restaurant and snapped her fingers at the nearest waiter. Apparently, they all knew Servalan here.

“You do make your presence known, don’t you?” he murmured and was rewarded with a smile.

“Oh yes. I like people to be aware of me. You feel the same, don’t you?”

He only smiled. He didn’t see why he should give Servalan any answers about anything. She didn’t seem to mind. She ordered his dinner for him, which he allowed. One thing he did trust was that Servalan would have excellent taste.

“So,” she said, leaning across the table and smiling at him. “How are you, Avon? Are you enjoying your time as Blake’s lackey?”

A slightly sore spot but Avon didn’t intend to show her that. He gave her a quick twist of a smile instead, leaned forward to face her too.

“Blake is merely a stepping stone,” he said, not completely truthfully. “I am not his lackey.”

“No? Running his errands, playing his little games?”

He didn’t want her to put it like that. He kept his face cold and impassive and simply stared at her. She didn’t look worried. She just kept smiling.

“It must be a little … distressing, for a man of your talents to be so … unappreciated.”

“I get by.”

“Oh, Avon,” she said, shaking her head. “You could do so much … better.”

“Undoubtedly,” he said, taking a sip of the herbal tea she had ordered. It wasn’t bad, actually, more enjoyable than he would have expected. Probably overpriced though.

“You should let me help you,” Servalan said. She shifted slightly and he felt her leg brush against his. Oh, she was very attractive, every time she touched him, he found himself reacting. Not that it mattered, as long she didn’t realise how much it affected him.

“I don’t need help, Servalan. If I wish to leave Blake, I will do it.”

“So you don’t wish to leave him? Interesting.”

“Currently, his needs intersect with mine,” he said smoothly. “When this is no longer true, I shall leave. I shall not need your help.”

She just kept smiling at him. Their food arrived and they began to eat, both watching the other as they ate. Avon found it oddly exciting, far more interesting than the food was. He wondered what she was thinking. Did she hope she could use him? Did she hope that he would be seduced by her? She’d tried very hard the last time they had been alone and he had almost succumbed, simply because she was beautiful and she was … tempting. She was still tempting, perhaps more so somehow.

He suspected that it was because he knew just how horrified Blake would be if he knew.

They finished with coffee and then Servalan paid the bill without complaint. She smiled at him and caught his wrist as he stood up to leave.

“You should really re-think, Avon. I think there are plenty more options for you. Better options than putting up with Blake.”

“I’ll decide that.”

“This might be your last chance, Avon.”

“Is that a threat, Servalan?”

“Of course not,” she purred, smiling the smile of a cat that was about to swallow a small bird. “Merely … a suggestion that things might happen that could be troublesome for you if you don’t make the correct decision now.”

He looked at her for a moment, weighing up the comment in his mind. No matter what she said, it was a threat, although quite what it meant, he wasn’t sure. Servalan obviously had some sort of plan lurking in her mind, something that would doubtless make Blake’s life difficult. If he wanted an easy life … but he didn’t respond to threats.

“I think I am comfortable with my decision,” he said coolly and pulled his hand from hers, heading towards the door. He heard her stand, knew she was following him. He didn’t change his speed and she caught up to him at the door of the shop.

“Avon,” she said sweetly and when he turned to face her, she leaned up and kissed him, her mouth hot and delightful on his. He grabbed her waist, kissed her back hard for a few moments, then pulled away, pushing her back as he did. She smiled.

“I’ll see you again, Avon.”

“I look forward to it,” he said, then walked away. This time, she didn’t follow. He wondered where she was going now. Had she come here to find him or had that simply been a coincidence? There was no telling, not with her. He would simply have to wait and find out.

He was actually half-way out of the shopping centre when he suddenly realised what was missing and laughed aloud.

She had taken the bag with Cally’s present inside it.


	2. Chapter 2

The day of Cally’s party dawned on a surprisingly sunny day, given that it was November.

Avon found that he was ridiculously, embarrassingly nervous. He hadn’t actually told anybody that he was going to the party. He told himself it was because he didn’t want any silly fuss but in reality, he knew it was so he could simply not go if he really wanted to. 

He was fairly certain he would go. He’d bought a new top after all. It would be a waste of money if didn’t wear it.

The others seemed excited about the party. He’d overheard several discussions and worked out that there was something more to it than simply a birthday celebration, although they’d never given enough details to make it clear exactly what. He wasn’t going to ask. He was fairly confident that Cally would have let him know if there was something very important. He just … wished that he knew. 

“Avon, do you know where I keep my iron?”

“Blake, why would I know where you keep _your_ iron?”

“Well, you live here,” Blake said. “You always seem to know where everything is.”

Avon gave him a withering look, which, as usual, Blake ignored. He disappeared into the kitchen and started removing things from the cupboards. Avon resisted the urge to go and see what Blake was trying to iron. Usually, Blake wore baggy shirts that didn’t really need anything done to them. Was this party slightly smarter than Avon had imagined?

“Ah hah!” Blake sounded triumphant. “Here it is! I knew I had one.”

“Well done. You have succeeded at basic domesticity.”

Blake laughed which hadn’t been quite what Avon had in mind, although as he himself didn’t own an iron, perhaps it was lucky Blake hadn’t decided to pursue the conversation.

“I’ll put it back in this cupboard when I’m done,” Blake said cheerfully. “I need to go through some of this stuff some day soon, get rid of a few things.”

Avon didn’t say anything. He found it strange when Blake chatted about random things. He could never quite decide if Blake was just talking or if Blake was trying to draw responses out of him. He wasn’t quite sure which he would prefer.

“There,” Blake said. “Shirt ironed.”

He went into his room to change and came out a few minutes later. To Avon’s relief, he wasn’t looking ridiculously smart – just a dark blue shirt with a green top over it and some rather nice silvery patterns on the sleeves. Avon thought his own clothes probably matched that. Actually, his top was nicer, although he wished it wasn’t silver now. He hoped that nobody would think he and Blake were trying to match. That was a horrible idea.

“All right,” Blake said. “I’m going to leave now, help Cally set up. Can you feed the cats? I’ll see you later.”

It was carefully said, Avon thought. Whatever happened, Blake would see him later. He was actually vaguely impressed that Blake had managed to resist the urge to ask if Avon were coming along. As far as he was concerned, Blake was generally pathologically unable to stop himself sticking his nose in. Perhaps Cally had talked to him and told him not to. Cally was sometimes quite good at silencing Blake. It was one of the things Avon liked about her.

He fed the cats and then carried Orac away from Zen after Orac attempted to steal Zen’s dinner. Orac yowled and then purred when Avon scratched him behind the ears.

“Easily pleased, aren’t you?”

Orac just purred and kneaded Avon’s knees. He went back to yowling when Avon got up and went to get changed.

The party was starting at 7:00pm and Avon wasn’t sure if he wanted to arrive exactly on time or slightly early. Late was not an option, he despised lateness. In the end, he decided the dead on time was the good idea. He got himself dressed, took the present and walked to the hall, telling himself that if it was terrible, he could simply leave at any moment. There was no need to stay, he didn’t need to feel at all embarrassed if he found himself bored or irritated by the event.

There were already people there, plenty of whom he didn’t know. Cally was talking to one of them but the moment she saw him, she disengaged and walked over, smiling.

“You came! Oh, Avon, you didn’t have to buy me a present.”

He just looked at her, not absolutely certain how to respond to that. He wasn’t even sure if he’d like it – to his great annoyance when he had returned to repurchase after Servalan’s petty theft, the shop had run out of green. He’d had to choose blue instead, which was perfectly serviceable and yet somehow very annoying..

Cally gave a small laugh at his silence and squeezed his arm.

“Go and get yourself a drink. And if Vila is hovering by the bar, drag him away by the scruff of his neck, I’m not having him going to sleep under the table this year!”

He snorted, pretty sure that Cally wasn’t exaggerating at all. Vila’s tendency to overindulge was something that he hadn’t seen firsthand as yet but something that they’d all mentioned, including Vila himself. He’d asked Avon several times if Avon wanted to come out with him. Avon had always refused. Drinking was all well and good but drunkenness … well, he wasn’t good at a certain amount.

Vila was indeed hanging around the bar.

“I said you’d come! Gan wasn’t sure but I knew that you would. I should have made him take a bet with me … maybe you could hide under the table and I could do it now, what’d you reckon? I’d split it 80-20 … ”

Avon gave Vila one of his quelling looks. Largely, Vila was as immune to them as Blake was. He just grinned.

“Want to come and meet some people? Cally knows some _very_ lovely ladies … ”

This time, the quelling look actually worked and Vila wandered off, muttering something about finding Gan. Avon couldn’t imagine anything worse than watching Vila attempt to flirt with anybody. He looked for a dark corner to lurk in and immediately found himself looking over at Blake, who was holding court with a group of people.

How did he always _do_ that? Find himself a cluster of people and sit in it like a king? They looked like they were hanging off Blake’s every word, as though he was saying something deeply important, smiling at him, adoring him.

Suddenly aggravated, he moved away, looking out for Jenna. To his relief, she was with Gan. He could interrupt without worry, they both knew him.

“You came,” Gan said, sounding surprised.

“You didn’t expect it?”

“No,” Gan said bluntly. “I thought you wouldn’t want to.”

Avon wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. As he’d very seriously considered not coming, it seemed disingenuous to behave as though his coming was a certainty. Somehow he felt almost embarrassed and that annoyed him. Why should he let someone like Gan embarrass him?

“Cally will be very glad,” Gan said, apparently unaware that Avon was getting irritated. “I know she was hoping you would come.”

Avon nodded slightly, deciding to pretend that it was an irrelevance one way or another. A visible look of irritation flashed across Gan’s face and he turned to ask Jenna if she wanted another drink, leaving Avon a little puzzled. What had he done? 

Gan walked away to get Jenna’s cocktail and Jenna looked at him, grinning.

“I think he expecting you to be happier about that.”

“Why should I be?”

“You really are a cold fish, aren’t you?” Jenna said, shaking her head slightly, making her hair dance. “Gan thinks that Cally likes you and you’re not even interested?”

“I am very pleased Cally likes me,” he said stiffly.

“You sound it,” Jenna said dryly. Avon decided not to respond to that. If they simply meant that Cally liked him, that was quite fine, rather nice in fact but if they were implying sexual interest … that was something else entirely and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that at all. He hoped that by remaining quiet, Jenna would change the subject and to his relief, she did, although he wasn’t sure her next topic was all that much better.

“Do you know anybody here except for us?”

“No.”

To his great relief, she didn’t immediately grab him and start hauling him over to meet people. Instead, she began discreetly pointing people out to him and telling him little bits about them. It was the right balance between gossipy and useful and Avon found he rather enjoyed it. Jenna could be very annoying but sometimes, she seemed to understand him better than the others. Which was probably why she was sometimes very annoying.

At any rate, he found himself a little more relaxed after some time in her company. Gan returned after a while, dragging a slightly grumpy Vila with him. They argued for a while, then left again. Jenna went off to find herself food and after a little while, Avon followed her. The food wasn’t bad – Cally had managed a decent mix between actual food and the sugary stuff that other people seemed to favour at parties.

Avon noticed that Gan had made the largest cake of them all. It had been beautifully iced and there was a little ring of dancing people around the edges, carefully sculpted from icing. One of them was definitely Cally – he recognised the velvet red dress she wore, carefully replicated. The others, he had no idea about.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” Cally was standing at his side. “Gan is so very good with cakes. He could be professional.”

“Perhaps he ought to be,” Avon agreed. “Why isn’t he?”

“He won’t leave Blake.”

“Why?” Avon said irritably. “What is it that makes Blake so _impossible_ to leave?”

“Don’t you know?” Cally asked quietly, giving him one of the disturbingly intense stares that she sometimes produced. Avon disliked them but he suspected it was at least in part because he had a similar stare.

“No. I stay with Blake out of convenience, not because he has some almost mystical power over me. When I grow bored or have a better offer, I shall leave him.”

“Shall you?” Cally asked. There was a small smile on her lips, as though she didn’t believe him and Avon felt a stab of irritation.

“Of course I shall.”

“You don’t think of the Liberator as your home?”

The question was oddly troubling. He _did_ seem to think of it as home, more so than he had the numerous dumps over the past few years. His room was lovely, the actual coffee shop surprisingly pleasing, especially now he’d got Blake to change a few things. Even the flat, which was far more Blake’s domain than his was … comfortable.

But that didn’t matter. He wouldn’t be able to stay there forever, he knew that. You could never stay anywhere you liked forever, especially not if you were sharing with someone like Blake. Sooner or later, they wouldn’t be able to stand each other any more. Avon simply had to accept that, always keep it in mind. It was all right to enjoy the Liberator for now but it would not - _could_ not – be forever.

He realised that he’d been standing silently for a little longer than was appropriate but Cally didn’t seem to mind. She had helped herself to a few sandwiches and was eating. He decided that this meant that he didn’t have to answer her question and the conversation could move onto something different.

“Is Blake still holding court?”

“He doesn’t hold court!” she said with a laugh. “People like him, that’s all. A lot of them already know him. Ah, there he is, he’s talking to Tyce. I’m so glad that she could come, I haven’t seen her for a few years.”

She touched his arm, then moved away from him, going towards Blake and the woman with him. Avon watched her go, took a few more pieces of food and found himself a quiet and dark table where he was sure he would be left alone.

Annoyingly, he was quickly proved wrong. People started coming up to him and asking who he was and asking the inane sort of questions that people did at these gatherings. Avon was tempted to tell them all to go away but they _were_ Cally’s friends and he didn’t want to make himself look a boor. So he struggled to conceal his utter boredom and tried to be polite to everybody that spoke to him. It was wearying and after a few hours, he was wondering if there was any possibility that he could just slip away.

He was just thinking of doing it when Blake hailed him. His cheeks were slightly flushed and he was smiling.

“I’m glad you came, Avon.”

“I don’t see why you should be. It’s Cally’s party, not yours.”

He expected Blake to say something annoying about it being nice to see Avon socialising or something but Blake didn’t say anything. He just clapped his hand on Avon’s shoulder, squeezing gently. Avon was willing to give Blake that much, his touches never felt patronising. He didn’t intend to let Blake know that though and he twitched away, giving Blake one of his looks. Blake just kept smiling.

“Have you had any of the cakes yet? Oh, come on … ”

Somehow, Avon found himself being steered towards the cake section. Vila was there, juggling some bread rolls which was making Gan laugh and Jenna roll her eyes. Cally was there too and she offered him a plate of what she said were spiced ginger slices. Avon thought the one he tried tasted more like a spiced cardboard slice – obviously Gan had _not_ made these.

“Vila, you aren’t going to put those rolls back on the plate, are you?” Jenna asked. “It wouldn’t be very hygienic.”

“My hands are very clean,” Vila said. “But they’re my rolls now. Cally, can I take away any leftovers? Budget’s tight this week … ”

“Oh _Vila!_ ” The cry rang out from all sides and Avon rolled his eyes and offered one of his best scornful looks. Vila’s inability to manage his money was something that he was quite used to now. Vila was generally best with money when he was stealing it from other people – and even then, he was mostly petty with it.

He tuned out Vila’s plaintive explanations about why it was he was out of money this time. He took a different cake (which tasted overpoweringly of vanilla) and looked vaguely around the room, trying to work out how many people were still here. It looked a little quieter … if he wasn’t the first to leave, it wouldn’t look too bad … perhaps he could slip away for a few minutes and then just leave, claim that Cally had been too busy to say a proper goodbye to. It wasn’t like he wouldn’t see her again shortly, she was working in the Liberator in two days …

Cally looked at him as though she knew what he was thinking. Avon was about to tell her that he was going to get a drink when her eyes slipped behind him and her face lit up.

“ _Del!_ ”

Avon felt a shiver run down his spine. Silly. It was a common name, lots of Dels around the place. It was ridiculous to get upset by hearing the name.

Cally had pushed past him and he turned to see who she was greeting.

Cally was in the arms of Del Grant. A few years older yes, but without a doubt, Del Grant. He was hugging Cally, laughing and smiling at her.

“You came!” Cally was saying, her voice filled with utter joy.

“I came!” Del laughed, pressing a present into her hands. “I’ve been meaning to for ages, it just finally came together. Cally, I’ve missed you. Is Blake here?”

“Of course I’m here!” Blake said, moving past Avon to clap Del on the shoulder. “Grant, it’s been forever, I thought you’d vanished off the face of the planet! You’ll have to come to the Liberator, have some coffee – on the house, of course!”

“You mean you made that coffee shop _work?_ Blake, you’ve got the luck of the devil!”

Avon felt as though he was frozen. He had to move. He had to slip away before Del saw him, he had to _run_. If Del saw him, if Del realised he was here … how, how could Del possibly know Cally and Blake, how could this be happening?

“I’ve got a good team,” Blake was saying. “You met Gan once or twice, didn’t you, but you’ve not met Jenna or Vila or Avon … ”

Too late. Avon saw Del twitch, knew he was thinking exactly what Avon had been thinking mere moments ago; it couldn’t possibly be the same Avon, must be somebody else with the same name …

And then their eyes met.

Del’s face froze. It was almost funny in a way, he looked so _shocked_. Avon had seen almost every expression cross that man’s face in the time they had known each other but he’d never seen it quite like this.

But then the shock vanished and the cold anger came.

“ _You_.”

“Hello Del,” he said quietly.

“You know each other?” Blake said. His voice was suddenly very calm and Avon knew he was hoping to stop this turning into a fight, even though he didn’t know why a fight was about to break out. Cally’s happy expression was beginning to fade and Avon felt a stab of guilt. He should never have come.

“Oh yes, we know each other,” Del said, his voice thick with scorn. “Or at least, I thought I knew him.”

“Del, it didn’t happen the way you think it did – ”

He shouldn’t have spoken, shouldn’t have even tried. Del laughed so loudly that other people began to turn and look at them. Avon hoped he wasn’t blushing. He stared, cold and blank, tried not to clench his fists. He was not their amusement and he would give them nothing.

“We should take this conversation somewhere else,” Blake said, his voice pacifying. “This isn’t the moment – ”

“Do you know what he did?” Del demanded. “Do you know who he is?”

“He doesn’t know anything,” Avon said. He hated the knowledge that the others were all standing behind him, all listening, all hearing. He didn’t want them to know. He didn’t want them to hear. 

“What?” Del sneered. “You didn’t want to tell him about your attempt at fraud? You didn’t want to tell him how you drove a girl to her death?”

There. It was said. They were all staring at him, Cally’s eyes wide, Blake’s shuttered. He could imagine Vila gawping, Jenna’s raised eyebrow, Gan’s bland surprise. They’d all think that they knew, they’d all think they understood him and they knew and understood _nothing_.

“This isn’t the place for this,” Blake said again, his voice soft, apparently unjudging. “Del, come on. You know this is Cally’s day, you know what it means to her.”

Del turned to look at him, perhaps to argue and Avon took his chance. He turned and walked away. They’d think he was running but he didn’t care. He would not be judged by them, they knew nothing, nothing about his life, nothing about what had happened between him and Anna …

“Avon, wait!”

Blake’s voice. Avon sped up his pace a little. Not a run, he wouldn’t run but he was _damned_ if he would discuss any of this with Blake.

“ _Avon!_ ”

He ducked out of the door and now he _did_ run, diving immediately down a side street and then into the nearest pub. He ordered a drink then went straight into the toilet. Yes, he could admit it, he was hiding but he didn’t care.

He slumped onto the toilet seat and put his head in his hands, trying to breathe normally. Oh God. Oh God, they all knew. They all knew. They’d know more soon, Del would tell them everything he knew – or _thought_ he knew – and they’d be asking questions and looking at him and sneering at him, judging him …

He would not get upset. He would not become weak over this. This was unfortunate, this was … it was proof of what he had just been thinking, that you couldn’t make a home, you couldn’t stay forever, it would just … he’d have to leave if it was unbearable. And it almost certainly would be with Blake pushing and prodding and judging …

He left the toilet, deciding that he’d hidden long enough. His drink was still waiting and Avon downed it before ordering another. He’d drunk two glasses of wine at Cally’s party which was usually his limit but right then all he wanted was to drink and drink until nothing mattered. Until Anna was just a distant, distant memory and it didn’t hurt any more because he didn’t want it to hurt, he hated to hurt …

Another drink. The barlady was giving him a slightly odd look so he finished it and then moved on. That was the trick when you wanted to get desperately drunk. Don’t give them long enough to look at you, to think about you. You kept away and you drank and eventually, you didn’t think.

Another drink. The night began to become a blur. He moved from place to place without thinking about where he was going, what was happening to him. He found himself in some sort of awful club filled with screaming, dancing people. He watched them dizzily, wondering what was the matter with them all. How could they live their lives like this? Meaningless, it was all so meaningless, sickening and disgusting but that was life wasn’t it, it was all a waste and you thought there was something that made it better but then that was snatched away …

Another drink. He felt queasy, confused and he didn’t care. Someone was pawing at him, they wanted him to dance or something, he didn’t really understand but why not? He let them gyrate against him, nuzzle and touch and it felt almost good really, warm and pleasant and why not, he didn’t owe anybody anything, he never did …

Another drink. He was outside somewhere, trying to breathe cold air. Someone was shouting at him, he didn’t know why. He laughed at them, let them sneer. People were pathetic, why hide it? Why hide anything?

Things got even more confused after that. He was in a fight, he wasn’t sure why but he didn’t care why, he just fought back. Someone was shouting, lots of people actually but what did it matter? 

He was in a taxi. He couldn’t work out why or how he’d got into one. Someone was holding him, his head was on their shoulder. When he struggled a little, they tightened their grip and a male voice he didn’t know said “Easy mate. It’s all right.”

He seriously doubted that was true but it didn’t seem worth arguing over. He had gone from queasy to positively nauseous and he didn’t think that speaking was a good idea. Why did the taxi have to rock so much? Why was this happening to him?

The taxi stopped. He was half-pulled from it and had to cling to the man, not sure he could stand on his own. He heard the sound of a doorbell ringing and then a door being yanked open far too loudly.

“ _Avon!_ ”

Blake’s voice.

“I’ve been worried sick, my God, where have you _been,_ what the hell’s happened?”

He didn’t think he could answer. It was all right, the man was doing it for him.

“I found him picking a fight, thought I’d better peel him out of there. He’s pretty good in a scrap isn’t he? But he couldn’t remember where he lived, I had to go through his wallet, I’m afraid … ”

He felt himself being gently transferred from the old support into Blake’s solid arms. He lay against them, beginning to tremble. He was going to be sick, he could feel it and if he opened his mouth to tell Blake it was quite possible that he’d just throw up on him …

“What’s your name?” Blake asked.

“Tarrant.”

“Tarrant, come back tomorrow and you can have a free lunch. Thank you so much for bringing him back, I can’t tell you, I’ve been worried sick. All right Avon, come on, let’s get you upstairs, it’s all right, it’s all going to be all right … ”

They just got into the bathroom in time. Blake sat with him, stroked the back of his head as he retched. He brought him a glass of water, helped him sip at it, let him lean against his shoulder. 

“It’s going to be all right, Avon.”

Avon wished he had the energy to tell him that he knew full well that that would always be a lie.


	3. Chapter 3

Avon woke up huddled on the bathroom floor with the most appalling headache that he could ever remember having. Someone – Blake – had draped a blanket over him and given him a pillow to rest his head on. It was a small comfort. He felt _terrible_.

It took him a while to remember quite how he had got there. Slowly, the jigsaw of memories fitted together and he closed his eyes again, furious and embarrassed. Somebody had _brought him home_. And then he’d spent the rest of the night leaning on Blake’s shoulder and being sick in front of him. This was _exactly_ why he wasn’t generally stupid enough to drink. He wished that “Tarrant” had left him unconscious in an alley somewhere, it would have been less humiliating.

He sat up and couldn’t suppress a groan. His _head_ … damn. He needed water and something to eat that wouldn’t irritate his very unhappy stomach.

The door opened and Blake came in. He was holding a glass of water in one hand and painkillers in the other. His expression was very neutral which Avon supposed was better than blatant pity.

“Here you go, drink this.”

He took them without thanks, glad to get some water into his dry, vile-tasting mouth. When he’d finished it, he slowly stood up, trying not to stumble. He didn’t want to look weak in front of Blake. He washed his face, knowing at that some point, he’d need a proper bath but not quite trusting himself to remain conscious if he had one now.

Blake just stood there, blocking the door, his expression still quite bland. Avon forced himself to stare the man straight in the eye.

“I’d like breakfast, Blake,” he said, although it wasn’t exactly true. He wasn’t quite sure that he could stomach anything but he just wanted Blake to move.

“I’m sure you would,” Blake said and he stepped aside. Avon pushed past him and nearly fell over Zen, who had apparently decided to sprawl in front of the door for no obviously good reason. He swore and Blake grabbed his arm, holding him up. Avon tried to pull away but Blake held on.

“Avon. We need to talk.”

“ _No_ , Blake. We do _not_ need to talk. We do not need to talk about _anything_.”

“That’s not true. I know what happened last night upset you … ”

“It did _not_ upset me!”

Blake looked at him in that infuriating way of his. Infuriating and understanding and friendly, as though he just wanted you to trust him and he would somehow make it all right. 

Avon wanted to punch him.

“I am _not_ upset,” he said again. “And I have no wish to discuss anything that happened last night, both while I was there and after.”

“Avon, you know that can’t happen,” Blake said and there was a touch of irritation in his voice now. “You know that we’re going to have to talk about this.”

“Why, Blake? Why do we have to talk about it? To assuage your curiosity? To answer questions that _you_ want answered? I’m sure that Del told you all sorts of things – why isn’t that enough?”

“Del told me very little,” Blake said quietly. “I told him that you were my friend, that you deserved to talk to me yourself about your past.”

“Then you’re a fool. I have no intention of telling you about anything about my past. It is none of your business. You are not my friend. You are an employer and flatmate and that is _all_.”

A flush swept over Blake’s cheeks. He released Avon’s arm abruptly, a little more abruptly than Avon was expecting. He stumbled, almost fell. Blake didn’t say sorry. He was glaring, looking actually angry.

“Fine,” he said, his voice cold. “Fine, Avon. Carry on like that. Pretend to yourself that all you are is some sort of robot that doesn’t have friends. Del said you were friends. Del said that he trusted you very deeply once.”

Avon clenched his teeth together, turned away. He didn’t want to look at Blake’s face, didn’t want Blake to be looking at _him_. Didn’t want Blake to see anything that might flicker through his eyes if Blake started talking about Anna …

“I wish you could trust me,” Blake said flatly. “But perhaps that’s just something that you can’t do any more. Get yourself sobered up, as much as you can. I’m going to the food bank. Cally might want to talk to you at some point. Try and be civil.”

“I’ll be however I want, Blake.”

“No, you’ll behave like a grown up. Those parties are special to Cally. What happened isn’t her fault, she had no idea about you and Del.”

Avon didn’t say anything. He had no intention of promising Blake anything, particularly as Blake had no damn right to tell him what to do. Blake turned and walked to the door, stopping just as he opened it.

“Oh and the man who brought you home last night should be coming for lunch. If you can’t be polite, stay up here. He went out of his way to help you.”

Avon immediately decided that he would be downstairs. He had absolutely no interest in meeting the interfering man but he certainly had no intention of letting Blake boss him around. 

Blake left, banging the door with unnecessary loudness. Avon waited until he was sure that Blake had definitely gone downstairs, then lay down on the couch, resisting the urge to push his head under one of the cushions.

Damn Blake. Damn Cally. Damn Del, damn him to _hell_. Why couldn’t he have just stayed away? He had a life, he’d always had a life of his own, he didn’t need to come and mess up Avon’s when he didn’t even understand …

He groaned. The last thing he needed in this state was to sink into remorse and self-pity. It was the last thing he ever needed, both emotions were pointless. They changed nothing. That was what sentimental fools like Blake didn’t understand. Wallowing and moaning … why do it? You were better off trying to forget.

Zen crawled onto the couch with him and began to purr in his ear. Avon let him lie there for a bit, then fetched his laptop. He designed and printed off a sign for the shop saying more help was wanted – Blake _had_ said he wanted that, the fact that he might not have wanted it _today_ was not Avon’s problem – and then succumbed to his hangover and played a variety of utterly mindless games for several hours. 

At quarter to twelve, he forced himself off the couch and went to have a shower. He found a lot of bruises in varying colours – obviously, he’d fallen and been punched several times. None of them were terribly serious, although he suspected he would have to be careful not to bump into anything for a few days.

Once he was out of the shower, he went to change into clean clothes. He thrust the stupid party outfit under the bed – childish but he didn’t care, he didn’t want to look at it. He combed his hair, made sure that he didn’t look obviously ill or unhappy in any way, then walked down into the Liberator.

It was the usual busy lunchtime crowd. The Liberator had been flourishing anyway but with Avon’s tips, it was now booming. Jenna and Vila were rushed off their feet. Avon stuck the sign to the door, then went and sat in a corner beside the fire. He knew it was his imagination, but he couldn’t help feeling that people were looking at him, whispering about him. That they all knew - _thought_ they knew – what he had done. What had happened last night.

It was silly. He wouldn’t become a paranoid fool. They didn’t know. And even if they did, why should he care? He did not care what people thought. He _never_ cared what people thought.

Blake came in, shaking raindrops from his curls and grinning when he saw Jenna.

“ _Horrible_ weather out there, I know it’s November but still! I bet there’ll be snow again in December, we’d better start stocking up. Tarrant hasn’t come yet, has he? Who put the sign in the window?”

“If he has, he didn’t say he was,” Jenna said. “Avon put the sign in the window.”

“Ah. Well, I suppose we do need to get on with hiring … get the names and numbers of anybody interested, would you? I’ll work out a day for interviews.”

Blake was back in his usual effusive mood, apparently. Avon reached out of a newspaper and glared at it, hating everybody.

Tarrant arrived shortly afterwards. He was a young man, probably only just in his twenties. He had hair that was even curlier than Blake’s and had a wide smile that Avon immediately loathed. He shook Blake’s hand with enthusiasm and waved away Blake’s thanks.

“Oh, it was nothing, honestly, I couldn’t have just _left_ him, could I? Just fulfilling my civic duty!”

Avon wondered if he could push him in the fire and make it look like an accident.

“Well, he was lucky to have you around,” Blake said warmly. “Come on, pick yourself a lunch. Avon’s down here somewhere, I’m sure he wants to thank you … ”

Vila snorted in disbelief which might have annoyed Avon at another time. As he was currently swearing blind that he would cut out his own tongue before even suggesting gratitude to Tarrant, he supposed that he could hardly complain.

“Ah, there you are!” Tarrant said brightly, spotting him. “You look better than I expected you to, given the state you were in last night!”

Avon settled for a murderous glare. Anything more subtle would probably be lost on this idiot. Tarrant just blinked and continued to smile. It was like being attacked by a walking toothpaste advert.

“You’re a good fighter,” Tarrant said, apparently assuming that Avon cared. “You go a bit too far though, you could have been up on assault charges.”

As Avon couldn’t remember the fight at all, he settled for continuing to just stare darkly. Even more irritating was the fact that Blake was watching and clearly amused by the fact that Tarrant was so clearly unfazed by Avon’s irritation.

“I’ll just have sandwiches, thanks. Those cakes do look good though, I like the little stand you’ve got. It’s a nice place this, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Blake said, his voice taking on the soft tone that he only used when he spoke about the Liberator. It should have been nauseating … and yet Avon always found it oddly pleasant to hear.

“How long have you two lived here then?”

Avon twitched. He didn’t like the implication in Tarrant’s words. Blake just laughed.

“Oh, I’ve been here several years now. Avon only moved in a few months ago, he’s my lodger.”

“Ah, I see,” Tarrant said, not sounding terribly worried either way. “You’re lucky, aren’t you … Avon, right?”

Avon decided not to answer either question and just stared. Tarrant was irritatingly unbothered. Blake frowned and then smiled at Tarrant, obviously deciding to engage him in conversation if Avon wouldn’t.

“So, what do you do?”

“I’m training to be a policeman,” Tarrant said proudly.

“A policeman?” Avon said sweetly. “Oh dear, Blake won’t like that. He doesn’t like policemen.”

Blake gave him an irritated look.

“Don’t be silly, Avon.”

“What was it you said? Something about racist, unfeeling bastards that use their power to bully and abuse?”

“I said that about the _institution_ , not the actual _people_. The system has been known to be unfortunate but individual policemen are often very nice.”

“I’m sure that’s not what you said the other night, Blake.”

“Avon, stop being childish. Don’t listen to him, Tarrant. Are you enjoying the training?”

“Mostly,” Tarrant said. He was looking a little surprised at the argument but not as uneasy as most people would look. He shrugged his shoulders. “Some of it … isn’t quite what I hoped, I suppose.”

“You’ll be all right,” Blake said reassuringly. “I’m sure the training must be difficult. But they could use good men and women.”

They began to talk about policing and the people that Tarrant had met. Avon decided that they didn’t require his presence any longer and got up. Blake flashed him one quick look and Avon realised that it was just possible that he’d finally managed to really, really annoy Blake.

He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that.

Rather than go back up to the flat, we went outside and leaned against the wall, suddenly wishing for a cigarette. He hadn’t smoked in years, he’d almost forgotten the cravings. Now all he wanted was hold one of them in his hand, put it to his lips …

Anna hadn’t liked him smoking. He’d stopped for her.

He clenched his fists, furious with himself. He didn’t want to think about Anna! Why couldn’t he stop _thinking?_

He stalked down the road to the nearest shop and a few moments later, he was clutching a packet of cigarettes in his hand. He felt stupid and frustrated and couldn’t help wondering what Blake thought about smoking even though he didn’t want to care about what Blake thought.

He headed for the side door, deciding that the last thing he wanted was to meet Tarrant again. His hand on was on the handle when he heard footsteps.

“Excuse me? Do you work there?”

He turned and looked at the speaker. She was tall with dark skin and very short hair and smiling at him in a rather hopeful way.

“In a manner of speaking,” he said.

“Oooh, does that mean you’re in charge?”

He felt his lips quirk into a smile.

“In a manner of speaking.”

“I’m Dayna Mellanby,” she said, holding out a hand. “I’m going to work for you.”

Avon raised an eyebrow very slightly. It was an interesting way of phrasing it – a person would either take that as a sign of impressive confidence or as over-confidence. 

“Are you now? And why do you think that?” he asked, shaking her hand. She had a good grip.

“Because I am better than anybody else that will apply!” she said brightly, lifting her chin. “I’m a hard worker, I’ll get jobs done and I won’t complain about doing them.”

“Why do you want it?” he asked. There was something rather pleasant about having this conversation. Perhaps it was because someone was talking to him as though he had some power, as though he mattered and what he thought mattered. Perhaps it was knowing that she needed something. He understood what that was like.

Dayna Mellanby paused for a moment, looking at him. He sensed that she was assessing him, pondering what sort of answer he might like. He did his best to look inscrutable. He didn’t want her to know what he did or did not want.

“Because it’s local,” she said. “Because I can do it. Because it looks a nice café. Because I need to get a job to make some money. I’m not going to let you down, I’m not going to run off when things get hard.”

He looked at her, trying to read her expression. Was she desperate? Was she one of Blake’s lost causes without realising that she was? She sounded tough but at the same time, she obviously did want this job, perhaps more than normal …

Dayna folded her arms. He knew that she wasn’t the sort who would beg – if she thought he was playing around with her, she’d just leave. But he did want to know why she really wanted the job. He was sure there was more to it. He wanted to know what it was and he knew that she wouldn’t answer.

“Come back tomorrow,” he said, smiling at her. “We’ll give you a trial run.”

She beamed at him, her face alight.

“You won’t regret it! I’ll prove how good I am! What’s your name?”

“Avon. Ask for me at the counter. I’ll come down.”

She smiled and then walked away, an obvious spring in her step. Avon watched her go, feeling a slight tickle of doubt. Blake might not be very pleased that Avon was making choices that might affect the Liberator. But Dayna was lively and Avon rather liked her. Why shouldn’t he interfere where it was warranted? Blake needed to get a waiter or a waitress. Why not the one that Avon liked?

He finally walked through the side door and ran straight into Gan who was putting his supplies away. He turned and stared at Avon in a surprisingly disconcerting fashion. Avon stared back, automatically fixing his blankest expression on his face.

“Have you talked to Cally?” Gan asked, his voice accusing. Avon tried to keep himself from showing his irritation.

“Why should I?”

“ _Why?_ ” Gan sounded disbelieving now. “Don’t you realise what you did?”

“What _I_ did? _I_ did nothing. The fact that I was there did not make it my fault.”

“Which doesn’t mean that you can just ignore what happened. Do you even know why Cally’s parties are so special to her?”

Avon bit back the urge to say anything. He had no intention of revealing that ignorance to anybody, especially not Gan. He kept his expression smooth and glared slightly. Gan didn’t look bothered by the look. He just looked more annoyed.

“You should apologise to her,” he said with the simple implacability of one who didn’t see anything except what he considered t be right. “She needs to hear it from you. Don’t you care about her enough for that?”

“My _feelings_ – whatever they might be – are none of _your_ concern. Perhaps you should consider your own life before mine – like so many of the people who work here, your existence seems to revolve around Blake more than is healthy.”

Gan didn’t look like the jibe even disturbed him. He just looked at Avon, then shook his head in what was clearly pity.

“You don’t really understand anything much, do you, Avon?”

Avon felt a surge of real rage boil inside him. He kept his face blank for a moment but then he felt his lip curl in a sneer.

“I think I don’t need the guidance of an idiot.”

He walked past Gan before he could say anything else. Gan didn’t try to stop him or try to say anything else. Avon was glad of that. He wasn’t sure he would have been able to keep his calm demeanour any longer.

He shut the cats in the main room and went to open the window of his bedroom, lighting his first cigarette as he did.

It had been a long while since he’d felt such a mixture of pleasure and complete self-loathing as he did as he smoked. He stood by the window, sucking the smoke into his lungs and trying not to think about anything except that steady action. It was surprisingly easy to remember exactly how to do it.

He was smoking the second cigarette and thinking how strange it was that something that tasted so disgusting could make him feel this good when he heard the sound of the door banging open. He stubbed the cigarette out on the windowsill just as _his_ door banged open and Blake stormed in.

“Did you have to be so rude to Tarrant?”

He sounded surprisingly annoyed about it. Avon offered a supercilious sort of smile.

“Why shouldn’t I be? I don’t like him. Have you noticed that I don’t tend to hide my feelings about people, Blake?”

Blake did not look amused. In fact, he looked positively infuriated. Avon found himself smiling more, although he wasn’t quite sure why. Perhaps just to wind Blake up.

“He might have saved your life,” Blake said flatly.

“He _might_. Or he might have just stuck his nose in where it didn’t belong. Difficult to tell, isn’t it? Incidentally, a girl called Dayna Mellanby is coming in for a trial at the assistant’s job tomorrow.”

“ _What?!_ ”

“She came and asked me about it. I thought she seemed suitable.”

Blake’s face reddened. His fists clenched at his sides, just for a moment. Avon watched him, allowing a small smirk to cross his lips.

“ _You_ thought,” Blake said, his voice very quiet and even in a way that suggested extreme anger. “ _You_ thought and just … acted on that thought. You didn’t think of asking _me_ , the _owner_ of this café. You didn’t think for a moment that it might matter to _me_.”

“Of course I did. That’s why I merely arranged a trial.”

Blake took a step closer to him, almost toe-to-toe. Avon held himself completely still, allowing the invasion of his personal space. He could smell Blake, feel his warmth. He wondered if Blake would notice the cigarette smell that had to cling to him.

“The Liberator,” Blake said, still very quiet and even. “is _mine_. You will never, _ever_ make a decision about her without consulting me, do you understand? I put up with a lot from you, Avon. I will _not_ put up with that.”

“So would you like me to call Dayna and tell her you reject her out of hand?” Avon asked sweetly.

He knew Blake wouldn’t do that. However angry he was, he’d know that it wasn’t Dayna’s fault, be unable to refuse. It was one of the differences between them. If the Liberator had been Avon’s, any attempt to undermine his authority would been squashed, no matter what the consequences of that.

“ _I_ will supervise her tomorrow,” Blake said flatly. “Don’t do anything like this again, Avon.”

“I promise not to try and help you in the future, Blake.”

Blake took a step back. Then he frowned and sniffed. He looked at Avon’s open window, then abruptly seized his hand and dragged it up. Avon tried to pull back, twisting his wrist.

“Let go of me!”

“You’ve been _smoking!_ ”

“What business of it of yours if I have?”

Blake’s fingers seemed to convulse; Avon had to bite back a shocked gasp of pain. He would not show that it hurt, he would _not!_

“How _dare_ you smoke in here?” Blake shouted at him.

“You never said I couldn’t, Blake.”

“Then consider yourself told! I will not have smoking in my home, I will never allow it, do you understand?”

“Perfectly, Blake. Let go of me. _Now_.”

Blake let him go slowly, as though slightly surprised that he had been gripping so hard. Avon made a show of holding his arm quite still for a moment before dropping it to his side. His wrist throbbed and he wanted to rub it – but not while Blake was in the room. Not while Blake was watching.

“Don’t ever touch me again, Blake.”

Blake didn’t say anything. He turned and walked out of the room, closing the door with a sharp click. Avon listened till the footsteps went downstairs, then slowly lifted his wrist and stared at it. Blake’s finger marks were still visible, crimson against white. When Avon touched them, they still felt warm.

Well. He’d finally made Blake lose his temper.

It had been … interesting.

Stubbornly, he lit another cigarette.


	4. Chapter 4

Avon made sure he was up early in the morning, looking fairly smart. When he went out for his breakfast, the look Blake gave him was icy. Obviously, he suspected that Avon wanted to muscle in on his trial for Dayna – which was partially true. Mostly, Avon just wanted to show that Blake couldn’t control him and show Dayna that he would keep his word to her. She would probably work out that Avon had exceeded his authority when she met Blake and he didn’t want her to think that it had just been a game.

He went down into the Liberator on the pretext of doing a stock take. It was actually quite an important task, given that Blake varied in his buying. Sometimes, he was almost military in precision, other times he gave in to what Avon could only describe as whimsy and ordered things that Avon didn’t think made any sense at all.

“People like things to be a bit different sometimes,” Blake had said cheerfully one of the times when Avon had asked him why. “It’s nice to shake things up.”

Not for the first time, Avon had wondered exactly how Blake had managed to stay in business for so long.

He was busy checking how much coffee Blake had ordered in when Dayna arrived. She was looking very smart which he liked but wasn’t sure that Blake did. The Liberator did not have anything in way of a dress code. It was something that Avon found infuriating – it would look better if everyone was smart and dressed in a similar way. But no, Blake seemed to think that would be ridiculous and so everybody just came to work dressed however they wanted to. Sometimes, both Jenna and Cally came in in what were basically ball gowns which Avon found utterly baffling. Naturally, Blake seemed to enjoy it – but then, he would, given his penchant for billowing sleeves.

“Hello!” Dayna said brightly.

“Hello,” Blake said, standing up and offering his hand. “My name is Roj Blake.”

She looked a little surprised but took his hand obediently.

“I own the Liberator,” Blake said, a little pointedly now.

Dayna blinked. Her eyes flicked to Avon, then immediately back to Blake. 

“I … see,” she said. “I didn’t realise. I am sorry.”

“No need to be sorry,” Blake said, sounding more cheerful now. “It’s very nice to meet you, Dayna. Avon didn’t seem to have much to tell me about you so why don’t you give me a few details now? I’ve got a form for you to fill in, nothing too important … ”

“Only vital for the legalities,” Avon mumbled, loud enough to be heard. “Why would _that_ be important?”

Blake chose to ignore him and Dayna – probably wisely – followed his lead.

“I’ll fill it in,” she said cheerfully. “Like I said to Avon, my name is Dayna Mellenby.”

“Mellenby … ” Blake said thoughtfully, handing her the form. “You’re not related to Hal Mellenby are you?”

Dayna’s hands seemed to slip on her bit of paper for a moment.

“Yes,” she said, a little less confidentially than before. “He’s my father.”

“Your father?” Blake repeated. “He’s a good man, I read a lot of his work. I’m very sorry, things must have been hard for you lately.”

Dayna flinched slightly, then smiled a slightly watery smile but a smile none-the-less. Blake smiled back and put his hand on her shoulder. Avon turned away, suddenly wanting to throw something at both of them. So. Dayna was just going to be another one of Blake’s lost causes. How tediously frustrating.

Blake was showing Dayna around now, telling her about the different parts of the Liberator and about the ambience that he liked to create. Avon had heard it before and it was all over-flowery nonsense as far as he was concerned. Yes, the Liberator was well set up but really, some of the things that Blake was going on about was just ridiculous. Who cared about where the newspaper pile was and what newspapers you put on top? Well, unless you were Blake, anyway.

“This is the coffee machine,” Blake said. “It’s a little … impossible. Avon is the best person to explain it, he built it.”

“You built it?” Dayna said, sounding surprised.

“Yes,” Avon said, a little nettled. “The old coffee machine was out-dated and useless. I have some skills in technical matters so I fixed it. I don’t understand why everybody thinks it is so difficult. The on-switch is here, then you press this for the coffee, this for the milk … ”

Dayna was taking notes. Avon decided that this showed a certain level of intelligence and didn’t complain. He explained the machine in detail, then stepped back to allow Blake to take over again. Customers were beginning to arrive now, smiling at the obvious new girl who was taking their orders in a slightly clumsy but decidedly enthusiastic way. Avon faded quietly in the background and continued his stock check. He had managed not to look at Blake once – and he was fairly certain that Blake was doing the same thing.

Oh, Blake would apologise to him soon, he was sure of that, especially now he was clearly taken with Dayna. He would most likely hire her, thank Avon for his good eye – but perhaps drop in one last little reminder that the Liberator belonged to him, not Avon. That Avon shouldn’t play games with him.

Avon wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He wasn’t sure how he felt about any of it. He had slept badly last night and was cross with himself for that silliness. He knew what he needed to do – start looking for new flats, perhaps even a new job – so why was he delaying? Why was he playing ridiculous games with himself, with Blake?

“Do you want a coffee?” Dayna asked, smiling at him.

“Black.”

She made it for him, giving him a look as she did.

“I think I should be cross with you.”

“Do you?” he asked mildly.

“You let me think you were in charge.”

“You didn’t ask.”

The look she gave him was withering. She wasn’t the type to be fobbed off like that. Avon allowed himself to smile at her. Well, even if Blake liked her, that didn’t mean he couldn’t like her too. 

Although it didn’t make any difference.

He turned away in time to see Cally walking through the door.

Avon immediately twisted and stared at the sandwiches that Gan was setting out on the rack, as though he were very interested. It was a rather childish subterfuge and he felt stupid for it immediately. He heard Cally greet Blake and be introduced to Dayna and knew that she was walking towards him.

“Avon.”

“Hello,” he said, pleased when his voice sounded quite bland and emotionless.

“Are you busy?”

“Quite busy, yes. I’m trying to arrange Blake’s stock for him again.”

“But you’ll be taking lunch?”

He made a non-committal noise, as though he might be far too busy to eat anything for the rest of his life. Cally gave a tiny snort and he couldn’t help looking at her. She was smiling, a small smile but it was a smile. 

“Avon, please let me talk to you.”

He wanted to refuse. He wanted to tell her that he couldn’t talk, didn’t want to talk but … that would look weak. He couldn’t bear that. And a little part of him couldn’t quite bear the fact that Cally was asking and he was trying to deny.

“If you like. We should go upstairs. We wouldn’t want to disturb Dayna’s training.”

Cally nodded her head. Avon didn’t bother to consult with Blake. He walked up the stairs, removing one of Gan’s sandwiches from the rack as he did. He had an idea that he heard Cally give a small snort of laughter behind him. 

It was lucky she was behind him – when he opened the door, Orac made a determined escape attempt which Cally quickly foiled. Orac yowled very loudly and tried to scratch her.

“Bad animal. What’s wrong with you? You’re not allowed down there, you and Zen only ever cause trouble in the Liberator. And nobody will feed you.”

Avon decided that this was as good a distraction as any and quickly went to find the cat food. Orac wriggled out of Cally’s hands with a haughty sort of sniff and walked over to eat, twitching his tail at Avon as he did.

“Contemptuous little beast,” he said, standing up and slowly turning to look at Cally.

She was giving him one of her intense looks. Avon stared back, not sure if he could match the look or not. What was Cally thinking? Was she expecting him to apologise to her? He had done nothing to apologise _for_.

“I’m sorry,” Cally said quietly.

Well, that made him feel awkward. It wasn’t as though the debacle had been her fault either.

“It is an irrelevance,” he said, trying to keep his voice as light as possible. “Put it from your mind. I hope it did not ruin your day too much.”

“It wasn’t what I hoped,” she said, annoyingly truthful. “I like my parties to be a day of celebration for everyone who comes. This was not a celebration of the good, only of the bad.”

He said nothing. What could he say? Did they really have to talk about this? As far as he could see, it was doing neither of them any good. It hadn’t been his fault. If he could have done anything to stop it happening …

“Avon, I wanted you to know that Del is staying for a while.”

_That_ he paid attention to. He knew he had reacted physically to what she’d said and was cross with himself for it. Cally didn’t behave as though she’d noticed but he knew she had.

“Not with me,” she said, as _that_ was the issue. “But the reason he was here was because he has a job and he needs the work. I … I am hoping that perhaps while he is here – ”

“ _No_.”

He said it with utter finality and turned away from her. The conversation was finished. He would not talk to Del – and he knew that Del would not talk to him. Any conversation would only cause them both pain and Del wouldn’t believe him anyway. Why should he? He had nursed his grudge for years and Avon was positive that Del had never really believed that he was good enough for Anna. He _hadn’t_ been good enough for Anna. If he’d been right for her, if he’d been better …

“Avon, the two of you obviously have things that you must talk about,” Cally said, her tone earnest. “Del has been in pain for so long. He needs to try and work through that, it’s not healthy for him to be like this.”

“And you assume for some reason that I care?” he asked brutally.

She looked rather shocked, as though it hadn’t occurred to her that he might not be interested in Del’s well-being. Avon fixed his coldest look on his face and resisted the urge to fold his arms. He didn’t want to look defensive. He wasn’t defensive. He was simply stating facts.

“Avon, I don’t know what happened but – ”

“Correct. You don’t know what happened. So do not tell me what I should do. You sound like Blake, interfering where you do not belong!”

To him, it was an insult. To Cally, it obviously wasn’t. She was giving him a coolly pitying look, almost like the one he had seen on Gan’s face yesterday.

“Forgiveness is a blessing, Avon. We should all seek to provide it and therefore to be good enough to receive it.”

“Forgiveness is meaningless,” he corrected her coldly. “What does it matter? It changes nothing.”

“It _heals_ , Avon. Everybody feels guilt, everybody needs to be helped with that guilt!”

“I do not feel guilty. I have done nothing to feel guilty about!”

“That isn’t what Del says.”

Well then. That was that, wasn’t it? He had no idea what Del had said, but he could guess. And Cally had obviously known Del a long time. Why should she believe Avon over Del? It wouldn’t matter what Avon said, even if he was willing to discuss it.

He turned away from her, moved into the kitchen as though the conversation was over. Behind him, Cally made a small sound of what was clearly distress.

“Avon, I did not mean it the way you think I did … ”

“I don’t think you meant it in any way, particularly,” he said coolly, not looking at her. “I simply think it is an irrelevance. I have no intention of speaking to Del. I am sure he has no intention of speaking to me. It would be better to leave the past where it belongs.”

“No, Avon,” she said quietly. “The past cannot be ignored. If we do not learn and deal with the past, it will forever be in the present.”

He didn’t answer her. What was the point? They would not agree. Cally put emphasis on the past. Avon believed it was better forgotten. And she wanted things from him that he couldn’t give. People always wanted things that he couldn’t provide in the end.

“Think about it,” Cally said, her voice almost a plea. “Please, Avon. Don’t lock yourself away like this.”

She left the flat, closing the door behind her. Avon stood where he was, staring at the cupboard in front of him without seeing it. Why couldn’t they all just leave it alone? Why did people have to _talk_ and demand and why couldn’t they just understand that it was better not to talk?!

It occurred to him that today was the actual day of her birthday. He refused to feel guilty about that. Why should he? She had chosen to come. It was nothing to do with him. None of them were anything to do with him.

Zen wound his way around his legs, making soft little purring noises. Avon resisted the urge to bend over and pick him up. Zen was Blake’s, not his. Orac was Blake’s. Everything belonged to Blake and there was no point pretending that any of these things were his or could ever _be_ his. He’d been a fool. He’d been a fool and it was time to move on.

He hated that it hurt.

Slowly, he sat down and began to do his afternoon work. His fingers moved mechanically over the keyboard, opening spreadsheets, looking at the information he’d been so meticulously recording. The rotas, the incoming and outgoing, the contents of Blake’s stock room. What was that to him? Why had he ever let it interest him? This wasn’t his home. Why had he ever let himself think that it was? There was no such thing as _home_. There never had been.

When Zen scrambled onto his lap, he pushed the cat away. He didn’t want to get cuddly. He didn’t want to relax. In the end, Zen gave up and went to lie on the sofa, making discontent little noises. Avon found it fairly easy to tune out. He had always been good at blocking things out.

He went downstairs to check on the various things that Gan had used and make sure to delete it from the spreadsheet. He wondered who would do it when he’d left. He reminded himself that he didn’t care.

Gan had already left. Vila was sitting on the counter, trying to flirt with Dayna. She looked amused more than anything else, probably because nobody with a brain would ever take Vila even remotely seriously at anything but certainly not flirting. As far as Avon could tell, Vila flirted with anybody that wandered past. He was pretty certain that Vila had flirted with him once or twice. 

“Hi, Avon!” Vila called. “Dayna’s going to stay!”

“As long as she manages the evening crowd well!” Blake called from where he was standing, chatting with some customers as he served them.

“I will,” Dayna said, grinning at Avon.

“Well done,” he said, aware that he sounded slightly stiff. Dayna didn’t seem too worried by it. She just kept grinning at him and shrugged her shoulders.

“Thank you for giving me the chance,” she said lightly. Avon shrugged again, not sure if she meant it or not. He’d hardly done anything for her. In fact, what he’d done was probably basically sabotage. 

He sat down in the newspaper corner, began flipping dully through the pages, uncomfortably aware of the fact that advertisements lurked there. He didn’t want to look. Why didn’t he want to look? This was ridiculous …

He didn’t know how long he sat there. He just suddenly knew when something was wrong.

It took him a moment to process what was bothering him. Blake had been talking a moment before but now he was silent. Avon looked up, automatically moving his head as little as possible so people wouldn’t realise that he was interested.

There was a man standing in the doorway. He was tall with dark hair and was wearing a large black eye patch. Avon thought that anybody who thought this man was playing pirate would quickly realise their mistake. There was something undeniably menacing about him, something Avon didn’t like at all.

“Hello Blake,” the man drawled.

“ _Travis_.”

“That right, Blake. It’s been a long time, hasn’t it? Does this place belong to you? It’s rather … rustic but then, that’s you all over, isn’t it?”

Avon scrambled to his feet as Blake threw himself forward, his face twisted with what could only be described as hate. He lunged, grabbing at Blake’s arm as Travis continued to smirk, apparently unworried by the charge.

“Oh Blake, really?”

“You bastard, I’ll ki – ”

“Shut up, Blake!” Avon snarled, shaking the man he was gripping to try and get his attention. The customers were all staring, mouths open with obvious shock and unease. Travis was smirking more, as though Blake was playing right into his hands. Probably Blake was and although Avon didn’t understand it, he knew Blake had to be stopped.

“Let go of me!” Blake shouted, struggling, seemingly wild with rage. “Let _go!_ You, you get out, get out of my home!”

Travis didn’t get out. Instead, he stepped forward, apparently wanting Blake to punch him.

“Come on, Blake!” he whispered. “Still letting other people fight for you? You were always too weak to face me, weren’t you?”

“Or just strong enough to know that you’re obviously boring.” Dayna’s voice was sweet. She had slipped around behind Travis and as he turned to look at her, she grabbed, twisting his arm up behind his back. Travis gave a yelp that was obviously a mixture of pain and surprise. Dayna began to drag him towards the door with surprising competence.

“Let go of me!”

“Oh, willingly!” Dayna said brightly. “Once you’re outside.”

Blake didn’t seem to want Dayna to escort Travis out. He was still struggling, his face crimson, eyes far too wide. Avon hung onto him, digging his nails in.

“Control yourself, you fool!” he hissed.

“Let me _go_ , Avon!”

“No. _No_ , I will not. Get a grip on yourself, you are frightening our customers.”

He only just avoided the blow that Blake swung at him. He ducked and continued to hold onto Blake’s arm, now grabbing for the other so he could pull him back and stop any more swipes. Dayna hurled Travis out of the door and slammed it shut, bolting it and turning to bow to the customers.

“Don’t worry folks, we’ll let you loose soon enough! Just taking out the rubbish first.”

She was met with a few chuckles. Avon took advantage of them to drag Blake back towards the door that led to the upstairs flag. Blake continued to struggle, still staring at the window where Travis was standing, looking furious.

“Come _on_ , Blake!”

“Let go of me! Let go of me, you bastard!”

Avon ignored him. He all but dragged Blake through into the back, noticing with disgust that Vila was nowhere to be seen. The little coward must have run.

“Blake, will you just go upstairs?!”

Blake let himself be propelled. The minute they were in the flat, Avon let him go. For a moment, he thought that Blake might hit him again – he certainly raised his hand. Then after a moment, he dropped the hand, shaking from head to foot.

“Why did you stop me?!”

“Because you were about to make more of a fool of yourself than usual!”

Blake turned and stalked away from him, kicking a chair as he did. Orac and Zen both leapt up from their various positions with bewildered yowls; Orac leaping over to the windowsill to hiss and Zen lumbering over to crouch behind Avon. Avon ignored him, staring at the pacing Blake. Well, he’d wondered more than once what would happen if Blake lost control of himself. Apparently the other day had merely been a taster.

“How dare you stop me?” Blake spat at him. “You had no right!”

“Having a brawl in the middle of your beloved Liberator might make you look more than a bit of a fool, as I said. More than that, actually, a violent fool. Or perhaps you don’t care about keeping the place any more?”

“As if _you_ care!” Blake sneered. “You don’t give a _damn_ about anybody, least of all me! I’m surprised you interfered – might make your life easier if I made a fool of myself in front of people!”

“Believe as you wish,” Avon said flatly. He felt strangely cold all over. Blake took a step closer, his face still red, mouth still twisted.

“You don’t understand what that monster did!”

“Explain it then.”

“Oh yes, the way you do? Why should I trust you with anything Avon? You don’t trust me! You don’t trust anybody, not even yourself and that’s why you’re so weak!”

The words hurt but Avon thrust the pain roughly aside.

“Perhaps I shouldn’t have wasted my energy,” he said icily. “Why should I care if you damage your reputation and lose customers? I’m not your friend.”

“No, you’re not, are you?” Blake said. “You can’t let yourself care just in case it hurts you. You’re just pathetic.”

Avon opened his mouth to reply but before he could, the door behind him burst open and Jenna rushed into the room.

“Blake!”

Blake stared at her as though he’d never seen her before. Jenna walked right up to him and caught hold of his wrists.

“What are you doing? Vila called, he said _Travis_ was here and that you were in a terrible state!”

Blake suddenly began to tremble. He nodded his head jerkily and Jenna gave a soft sigh and put her arms around his neck.

“Blake, I’m so sorry.”

“Oh Jenna, I saw him and it … it … ”

“Come on. Come on, let’s go and sit down.”

Avon turned and walked out. He headed down the stairs and straight outside, not stopping when Vila called his name. It was dark now, the cold biting – he hadn’t picked up his coat. It didn’t really matter. He couldn’t really feel it. He walked down the road with no idea where he was going. Blake’s rage-twisted face kept coming back to his mind, his savage words replaying. Why did it matter? They had only told each other the truth. He should be _glad_. He should be pleased that it had all been made easier …

He was so cold. He was damned if he would go back though. Damned.

But then, he had been damned a long time ago.

The purr of a car caught his attention. It was pulling up beside him, a long, sleek, expensive thing. The door closest to him pushed open.

“Avon.”

Servalan sat on the other side of the car, a vision in white silk and fur. Her smile was inviting, more so than her outstretched hand.

He didn’t question it.

He was in her arms almost before the door had closed behind him.


	5. Chapter 5

Avon woke slowly, aware that he was wrapped in luxury and not entirely certain why. He stretched and found velvet pillows and silk braids under his fingers.

Ah yes. Servalan.

He sat up, looking around the room that he had barely taken in the night before. Large and richly furnished, all lush reds and brilliant whites. The bed took up most of it, king-sized with an intricately carved headboard. Quite beautiful really. There were doors off the sides and Avon guessed they let to a bathroom and perhaps a dressing room. As he watched them, one of them opened and Servalan glided out, face perfectly made up, hair tidied and wrapped in a fur dressing gown which made it clear that she wore very little underneath.

“Avon,” she said with a sweet smile. “I was about to wake you. Breakfast is on the way up.”

Last night, they had eaten a meal of snacks whilst curled in the bed together. The food had been good, the style … decedent. 

Avon wasn’t sure he ought to stay for breakfast.

“Where is your shower?” he asked, getting out of bed, not worrying about being naked. She had seen him already.

“Just through there. Your clothes are … somewhere around, if you sure you want to dress … ”

He allowed himself a smile at that, a smile that she returned with force. She was beautiful and glittering, a diamond set in platinum, expensive and glorious to him. 

The bathroom was all black and white, cold porcelain and tiles. Avon showered, noticing the jets were strong, powerful ones. The shower gels and creams were all expensive. Servalan had everything that she wanted, whenever she wanted it.

He dried himself with a soft towel, warmed by the heated towel rail, then dressed himself in last nights clothes. Servalan had set up his breakfast on a small table; orange juice and croissants and sliced fruit. She was dressed too, a flowing gown that looked more suitable for a ball than for anything else.

“Aren’t you going to work today?”

“Of course,” she smiled. “But I like to look good.”

“I’m sure you do.”

They ate in silence. The food was good, enjoyable, rich. Avon ate his fill, then sat back, watching Servalan. She smiled at him and licked her fingers clean in a gesture that he knew were purely provocative.

“Well, Avon. I trust you found last night as enjoyable as I did.”

“Oh, it was pleasant enough,” he said, keeping his voice cool. She laughed and sat back, delightfully unconcerned.

“Avon,” she said. “Would you like to stay here?”

Stay there? In silk and satin and ebony? With servants that faded into the walls until you called them? Stay in Servalan’s bed?

“How long until you tire of me?” he asked lightly.

“Oh, I think you would take a long time to become boring, Avon. A very long time. And by then, well … you would understand, wouldn’t you? One cannot stay in one place for too long – you would already have made your arrangements.”

Her hand covered his, soft and light. She drew her nails gently over his wrist, the scratch light and pleasurable, a reminder of the evening and the night.

You could never stay anywhere forever. You always had to move on.

“You could have everything you want, Kerr.”

What did he want? This? Riches and money and luxury? What else was there? What else could there ever be?

“And what is the price, Servalan?”

“You know the price.”

Yes, he knew. Give her what she needed for Blake. Let her use him for that and for anything else afterwards.

“I may not be much use to you. Blake and I are not currently very friendly.”

“Oh Avon, you know as well as I do that you can deal with that.”

Yes, he could. The right words … and he did know the right words, he could produce them if he wanted to, it would be easy to charm Blake because Blake _wanted_ it. Whatever the truth of anything Blake had said yesterday, he would want to push it aside, make everything all right again. And then he could be eager to listen and then …

He felt queasy. He told himself that it was too much food.

Servalan ran her hand over his again, smooth and soft. She stood up, gesturing for him to stand too. Once he had, she kissed him, deep and warm and full of promise.

“Everything you’ve ever wanted, Kerr.”

“I want a lot, Servalan.”

She laughed.

“Oh, I know what that’s like. Trust me and you won’t be disappointed.”

Was that possible? To live in the riches he’d always dreamed of, to be content? No, it would never last … but she hadn’t claimed it would. She hadn’t lied to him …

“Come,” Servalan said, smiling. “I will drive you part of the way back. Not too close. I think that would be … uncomfortable.”

Uncomfortable. Yes, it would. Blake had forgiven a lot, been kind. But he would see Avon’s night with Servalan as betrayal by itself, a shocking, shameful, squalid thing – and perhaps it was. Oh, Blake had nothing against casual sex as long as everyone involved understood it, he made that clear in several of his rambles. But Servalan … no, that would be different, very different …

She led him through the house. Avon tried to look unconcerned, disinterested but he was taking in as much as he possibly could. It was a good, large house, well-furnished. There was no particular sign of any of her business things but Avon guessed the things were there, out of sight. There were probably a lot of things in this house that would be terribly interesting …

It was a well-guarded house though. He noticed security guards as she led him to the car. Cameras too, probably all sorts of other things.

Servalan sat coolly in the car, legs crossed, re-applying her lipstick. Avon sat in silence, looking at his interlocked fingers. When the car stopped, he looked at Servalan again. She smiled and held out a card with a phone number.

“Just in case.”

He took it and got out of the car, not looking back. He heard it pull away and only continued to walk once it was gone. He ought to think of an explanation … or would it matter? Would anybody even ask? What would it matter if they did, he didn’t have to tell. It was his life. His choices.

His choices.

Servalan could offer him so much. So much pleasure, so much enjoyment. So much ease. Why struggle on, why not just … give in to it? She’d asked him before and what had he gained from refusal? Nothing really. He could have so much more than what he had …

Thinking distracted him and he walked through the front door of the Liberator instead of the back. None of the customers looked at him until Jenna shouted his name. She sounded … relieved?

“Avon, we’ve been so worried!”

He raised an eyebrow at her but she didn’t blush of suggest that she wanted to take back the statement. She _looked_ relieved.

“Blake’s upstairs, he needs to talk to you. Do you want coffee first?”

He nodded and she went to get him something. Vila was there and he smiled too and waved. Avon wished they would all stop it. What was wrong with them all? Had Blake mentioned what he’d said and they were all feeling guilty? It was irritating.

Jenna handed him the black coffee and gestured for him to go. Avon did, trying not to grip the mug too tightly. This was _stupid_ , why was he feeling nervous? Why did he even care?

He opened the door and saw Blake immediately, sitting on the couch with Zen on his lap. He looked up and the naked relief on his face was uncomfortable to see.

“Oh Avon. Are you all right? Where did you spend the night?”

“What does it matter?” he countered coolly.

“It matters. It really matters. Avon, I never meant – ”

“Rubbish. You meant everything you said.”

“ _No!_ Avon, please sit down. There’s … I need to explain … ”

“You don’t.”

“I do! Please. Just come and sit down.”

Avon paused, raised an eyebrow, then did as he was asked. Orac appeared from nowhere to curl up on his lap, purring expectantly. Zen didn’t move from Blake’s knee. Avon stared down at Orac for a moment, then shrugged and gave him a brief scratch behind the ears.

“I need to explain,” Blake said softly. “Just let me, please?”

“All right. Explain.”

Blake took a deep breath. He was stroking Zen in a rhythmic sort of way that suggested nerves.

“I … I think I should start with the … at the beginning. I haven’t really told you about my family, have I?”

Avon raised an eyebrow, wondering if he ought to inform Blake that he didn’t care. It wasn’t exactly true. He was curious, always had been. What had Blake been before this?

“My parents are both dead, have been for years,” Blake said quietly. “My father when we – my brother, sister and I – were young, my mother when I was just twenty. My brother and sister were younger than me, I took charge of them. I … I was young, it was hard but we loved each other, we wanted to be together. So we struggled through many problems, we did our best. It was hard, it really was but people helped us and we did all right, we were doing all right … ”

His hand trembled on Zen’s back. The cat mewed softly and kneaded Blake’s lap a little. Blake sighed softly.

“I’m … it was my fault, what happened. I didn’t … I just wanted to do the right thing. That’s all, I … I thought I could help other people, I wanted to make a difference. So I did things, like I do here. Classes, groups … People who needed help, needed someone to listen to. That’s how I came into contact with Travis.”

Loathing flickered over his face, crept into his voice. His hand tightened on Zen’s back for a moment before he took a deep breath and forced himself to loosen up.

“I wanted to help him. He’d been in trouble, bad trouble. I thought … he needed someone to talk to, to know that people believed in him. He was angry but I’d met angry people before. I thought I could help him.”

He trailed off.

“But you couldn’t,” Avon said quietly when it became clear that Blake wasn’t going to speak again without prompting.

“No. He … he became angry with me, so angry. He … I can’t … I can’t remember what I did. My memories … I have problems with that time. I knew he was angry with me but I … I brushed it off, I thought it would be all right, that I could cope. We … we lived in this cottage, it was a nice place, I was happy, _we_ were happy … ”

His hands trembled again and he lowered his head so all Avon could see was a tumble of curls. Was Blake about to cry? Avon wasn’t sure that he could cope with that? He hated it when people cried.

“I was out. I wasn’t supposed to have been but I got a call from a friend who needed me. Col was watching something on the TV, Lu was making a jigsaw. She said she’d see me soon but I told them not to stay up. I knew I would be late. I … I hope they were in bed, I hope … ”

“What happened, Blake?”

“I got back,” Blake said, his voice strangely dull now, the tone of somebody who was trying to disconnect from their own story. “The … the smoke was already so thick. I couldn’t get inside. I shouted and shouted and I screamed until my throat was raw but … but … ”

His voice broke off. Avon put his cold coffee down and stared emotionlessly down at Orac, who was nosing curiously at the pocket where he had stuffed Servalan’s card.

“They were both dead,” Blake whispered, voice cracking. “My little brother and sister … murdered. My house destroyed … by _Travis_.”

“They know it was him?” Avon asked neutrally. Blake gave a bitter laugh.

“Oh yes. He made a mistake, you see, miscalculated. He was in hospital for a long time, his eye, his arm … looks like he can use his arm again well enough. An eye for my … my family.”

His fists clenched. He took a deep breath and then another, clearly trying to calm himself. Avon found that he couldn’t look at him. He stared at Orac, at the floor beneath. Blake favoured patterned carpets, worn from use. Servalan’s carpets had all been fluffy, except where he’d seen hard-wood floors …

“I don’t really remember what happened after that,” Blake said quietly. “I … there’s a psychological term for it. I … I just couldn’t cope, couldn’t face reality. Oh, I lived, I survived. I even held down a job. But I was just … a shell. I couldn’t talk about Col and Lu. Couldn’t think about them. There’s four years of my life that I barely remember. Where I’m not sure I was _me_ at all. Travis had a trial, I suppose. I don’t know if I was there. I don’t think so. I think he got a light sentence. He was so badly hurt, he’d had such a bad time … ”

Avon had heard Blake say things like that before but normally, it had been more thoughtful, more supportive. Now his voice trembled with rage.

“He _murdered_ them because of me. They didn’t deserve it. They didn’t do anything … they were _innocent_.”

“I’m sorry,” Avon said quietly because he was. He knew what it was like. He understood.

“It’s why I hate cigarettes so much,” Blake said. “Travis used to smoke around me all the time, it just makes me think of _him_ and fire and … it just takes me back to the worst time of my life. I don’t know what would have happened to me if Bran Foster hadn’t found me. He … he was a good man. He gave me a job here, sent me to a grief counselling group run by two of his friends. I couldn’t … it was hard, it took me a while to talk. But he helped and they helped and gradually, gradually I began to put my life together again. I began to realise that I couldn’t just give up. And I met Cally there. Cally and Gan and Del.”

Avon tried not to flinch at the name. If he did, Blake didn’t seem to notice. He was caught up in the past.

“Nobody told you, did they? About the group, about Cally. I thought she would but … but I think she liked that you didn’t know. Sometimes, it’s nicer when people don’t know … you understand that, don’t you? And then it’s hard to bring up in conversation. Her family … her parents were scientists, they were working in a lab with infectious diseases and there was … well, they _say_ it was an accident but Cally doesn’t believe it. She … well, she can tell you about that herself. All her family died except her, including her twin sister. That’s why she never celebrates on her birthday. That’s for her and Zelda.”

Avon didn’t think he wanted to hear any more. He wanted Blake to stop. He wanted Blake to just finish this, to let him get away. He didn’t _want_ other people’s pain. He couldn’t cope with it.

“We stayed friends,” Blake said, going back to his story. “I got better, things … things improved. Bran … Bran let me start living here. He was getting sick by then, I was able to help him. When he died, he left me the Liberator and Zen and enough money to make sure I didn’t fall flat on my face immediately. I hired Cally and Gan. Met Jenna and Vila later. I made a go of it. I … I got back to being myself. Feeling like I was … I was me again. I remembered … I remembered the things I’d wanted to change about the world.”

“After all that?” Avon said before he could stop himself. To his surprise, Blake looked up and smiled, a tired smile but a definite one.

“Yes,” he said. “You don’t give up. You can’t ever give up. If you give up … no. You keep fighting, you keep believing. You keep hoping. Sometimes you’ll be wrong but sometimes you’ll be right.”

Avon didn’t know what to say. He fundamentally disagreed, obviously. Hoping for things that could never happen was just a type of madness really. But Blake would never understand that. Never believe it.

“Avon,” Blake said quietly, cutting through his thoughts. “I am … I am so sorry about yesterday.”

“Blake, don’t – ”

“No, listen. Don’t … don’t tell me that I really meant it, that it doesn’t matter that I just … said it. It’s not … I was angry, very angry and I wanted to hurt you. I know that’s a terrible thing to admit but it’s the truth. I just needed to … well, I needed to let off steam and you were in the way, mostly because you did the right thing and stopped me from attacking Travis. I’m sorry you had to take the brunt of it. And I _didn’t_ mean those things, not the way I said them.”

Avon couldn’t answer. He felt numb, words all trapped uncomfortably in his throat. Why did Blake have to look so _sincere?_ So open and anxious, so … hopeful. Hoping Avon would understand, forgive him. Avon wasn’t that kind of person, couldn’t Blake see that? Why couldn’t he just understand what Avon _was?_

“I care about you,” Blake said with that easy simplicity of his. “Oh, I know you don’t see me as a friend but I think of you that way, Avon. I want … I wish you were happier than you are. I wish you would let us help you.”

“I don’t need help, Blake.”

The words came easily, automatically. Blake gave a soft sigh and reached out, clasped Avon’s shoulder with one of his warm, heavy hands.

“All right. I know. Just … please, don’t leave here just because we had a fight. I’d hate to think I’d driven you away when you were only trying to help me.”

Avon couldn’t bear it any more. He jerked up and away from that clasping hand, searching for something, anything to shut Blake up, to make Blake leave him alone. Blake seemed to sense it because he stood up, lifting Zen up carefully as he did so.

“I’d better go downstairs. Dayna will be coming by later to sign her contract – she’s clearly an asset, thank you for finding her. You can have a rest if you need it or just … get the work, whichever you prefer. I … thank you, Avon.”

“For what?”

“Stopping me,” Blake said quietly. “I needed you to do that. Thank you. If you stayed in a hotel, let me know. I’ll pay you back the money.”

He left the room before Avon could say anything else, putting Zen down on the counter as he did. Zen promptly jumped off with a cat-mutter and headed over to Avon, obviously feeling that Avon was planning on sitting still long enough for a cuddle. Avon stood up, pushing Orac aside. He didn’t want to hold anything. He felt cold to the bone and sick with self-loathing. Why had Blake told him? Why couldn’t Blake just have kept his mouth shut, been angry with a normal person? Why did he have to be so bloody _good?_

Why couldn’t he see that Avon could never be that way? That there was no point hoping, that Avon was more like Travis than he was like Blake. Why couldn’t Blake see that? 

Perhaps he ought to tell Blake exactly where he had been, exactly what he had been doing while Blake had been worrying. That would wipe the belief from Blake’s eyes, let him know just how misguided he was. That would show him what Avon really was. And then … then …

He found that he was pacing, unable to sit or stand. His breath was coming in embarrassing gasps and he forced himself to take a deep breath and hold it, swallowing back the stupid panic. What was the matter with him? Why had he let this get to him so much?

Because he knew. He knew what it was like to have everything stolen from you, to have your life shredded. How hard it was to recover from that, how painful. And Blake somehow still _believed_ and yes, it was obviously rank stupidity but … but at the same time it was … 

His mind swerved to a different track. Blake had been worrying about him last night. Worrying about what he’d said, about where Avon was. And Avon had been bedding one of his worst enemies. He had been betraying Blake, considering deepening that betrayal. Blake … well, Blake wasn’t his friend, he didn’t have friends, this was why …

Why did Blake have to make it all harder by _trusting_ him?

He sat down again and pressed his face into his hands. Why did he have to feel this way? Why was it hurting? He had sworn he would never let himself hurt again … but somehow, pain always crept back, no matter how hard he tried to stop it.

Pain was eclipsed by rage as it often was. It was comforting and he clung to it, letting it fill him. Rage at himself, rage at Blake for being so bloody understanding and nice and finally, rage at Servalan. How could he have been so stupid as to go to her? To let her seduce him, whisper promises that she’d never fulfil. He was a fool and he _hated_ being a fool.

Dragging the card from his pocket, he went to Blake’s phone and rang the number on it, not letting himself think about what he was doing.

Servalan answered, her voice a purr.

“Avon.”

He didn’t ask how she knew it was him. Perhaps she knew Blake’s number, perhaps she had only given Avon this number. It didn’t matter.

“There is _nothing_ you could ever offer me that would make me want to work with you,” he hissed, letting the rage bubble out of him. “Do you think I’m so simple that I don’t realise you’d be rid of me in a week after you had what you want? I will _never_ give Blake to you.”

“Really?” Servalan’s voice was cool, tipped with poison. “Is that your final say on the matter? This is your second chance, Avon – you will not be offered a third.”

“Go and find another toy, Servalan.”

“You’re a fool, Avon!”

She sounded angry now and Avon allowed himself a smirk, pleased to have irritated her.

“Bad luck, Servalan. Did you think I would just roll over like one of your usual lapdogs?”

“The way you did last night?” she hissed, mock-sweet. Avon allowed himself a mirthless laugh.

“Business and pleasure, Servalan. They don’t mix, remember?”

He hung up the phone before she could say anything else. He didn’t want her to try taking any more shots at him – they would hurt more than he wanted them to. The self-loathing was building up on him again, sickeningly strong and he didn’t want anything to add to it. Numbly, he went into the kitchen and fed the cats, then walked down into the café, suddenly unwilling to be alone.

“Oh Avon!” Vila sounded incredibly pleased to see him. “Thank God. Look, I think I’ve broken the coffee machine, can you fix with before Blake notices and starts complaining?”

“What have you done to it?” Avon asked, looking at the coffee machine with interest.

“I don’t know! It’s just not putting out the milk properly! I think I pulled a lever too hard. Avon please, Blake will get so cross, I broke it before too … ”

Avon went and fiddled with the coffee machine. It was reassuring, cold metal under his hands. Something to do, something that he wouldn’t make a mess with. He really did need to practise building things more.

“There. That should do it. Try now.”

Vila pulled the handle and the machine gave a slightly odd groan and spat out rather a lot of milk into Vila’s face. Vila yelped and everyone looked up to see him dripping with milk.

“Ah,” Avon said thoughtfully. “Not that then.”

“What on earth have you _done_ , Vila?” Blake asked, appearing from the corner he had been lurking in to give Vila a reproachful look. As Vila began to babble excuses, Avon went back to seeing if he could actually fix the machine. He could hear Jenna laughing at Vila and refusing to give him a towel. Avon felt himself relaxing slightly. This was normal. When things were like this, he could ignore what was inside. He could just focus on what was outside and that was so much easier. Listen to Blake and Jenna and Vila squabble and Gan mediate and offer Vila a towel and mention to Blake had he’d finished icing some little cakes that Cally might like. This was quite normal. This was all right.

It didn’t hurt so much.

Cally came in, apparently to pick up the cakes. She smiled cheerfully at Avon and he managed a smile back. He wondered if he ever wanted to talk to her about what Blake had told him. Part of him wanted to, another part wanted not to think about any of it. Luckily, with all the rest of them there, there was no chance of anything more than brief pleasantries. Cally started talking about some girl called Rashel that she’d run into, something about the girl’s cat and Blake told a story about Orac breaking into a cupboard one time. Avon just listened.

Dayna arrived wearing a bright pink jumpsuit – obviously a single day in the Liberator had ruined all semblance of smart clothing – to sign her contract. She beamed at Avon happily, obviously feeling that he had helped all of this come about. Avon decided not to comment. He listened to them all chatter to each other, letting it ripple around him. Customers came and went, apparently liking the happy little party, finding it amusing. Blake knew so many of them, throwing out friendly hellos and random queries about people that they knew. He looked himself again, not the strange, furious creature from last night.

Shades of the rage returned when the bell chimed and Travis walked through the door again.

“You!” Dayna said, her voice full of distaste. “Do I have to throw you out _again?_ ”

Travis smirked at her, a cold smirk. Avon stepped forward and smiled his own icy smile, lifting his chin.

“Well, this is an interesting visit,” he said lightly. “Is there some reason you feel the need to disturb us again so soon? Perhaps you find pleasure in causing and receiving pain?”

“I know a few clubs you can go to for that sort of thing!” Vila piped up. Avon had to stop his smile from widening. A man could grow very fond of Vila, somehow. He didn’t dare look at Blake to see what he was doing. He was sure that Jenna and Gan would be at his side, ready to prevent him from flying off the handle.

“Purely a professional visit,” Travis said, his mouth lifted in a sneer. “Avon, isn’t it? I’ve been asked to give you _these_.”

He tossed a brown envelope past Avon onto the counter. It wasn’t sealed and the contents spilt out, some tumbling to the floor as they did. Avon looked down at the one that had landed closest to his feet.

A disconnected part of him thought that it was quite a beautiful photograph really. He was all in black, Servalan in white. She had her arms around his neck, curved delicately around him and his arms were around her waist, holding her so close, their bodies fitted together like puzzle pieces …

Slowly, he bent and lifted the picture up, looking at the ones still strewn on the counter. They were all similar, each carefully picked, no doubt. Himself and Servalan, kissing and touching and pressed together in her bedroom.

_Oh no. No, please, no, this isn’t … please …_

He couldn’t look at Blake. He stared at the pictures, wondering what else was in the envelope. How much detail had Servalan given them all? Only tasteful shots? Or naked and desperate and helpless …

_Blake, please … I didn’t, I’m not … don’t you see, don’t you see, this is because I’m not!_

He couldn’t speak. His lips were frozen. He knew his face was frozen too, locked into icy disinterest, as though this didn’t matter, as though he didn’t care.

“Well,” Blake said, his voice black and heavy. “I suppose I don’t have to worry about reimbursing you for a hotel.”

_Oh Blake …_

He said nothing. Did nothing. Just looked at the photographs that Servalan had produced and hated her. He hadn’t known he was being filmed. Perhaps he should have thought of it. Realised Servalan was always prepared for everything. That proving he was useless to her meant that she had no need not to make him suffer.

“I’m going to bed, I think,” Blake said quietly to nobody in particular. “Jenna, you’ll lock up, won’t you?”

“Of course.” Jenna’s voice was quiet too. Avon didn’t want to look at her. He didn’t want to see the disgust that he knew would be on her face. Would they all be judging him? Jenna and Gan would be staring at him with total disgust, he was sure of that. Cally would be hiding her feelings, probably looking as blank as Avon was. Vila … envious pity, perhaps. Dayna … well, she didn’t really understand. Perhaps she was just sorry for him, getting caught out in some sort of sexual indiscretion. He didn’t care. He didn’t care what they thought. He didn’t. He never would.

He gathered up the photographs, slipping them back into the envelope methodically. Gripping it tightly in his hands, he moved away from the counter, fading into the darkest corner he could find. People were probably looking at him, watching him but he didn’t want to leave and he couldn’t go upstairs, not yet. Not until he was sure that Blake was in his room. That they wouldn’t have to talk.

When he finally went up, he found the flat empty. Blake’s door was firmly closed, the cats apparently inside with him. Avon collected a bottle of whisky from the cupboard and went to his own room. He lit a cigarette, poured himself a glass of whisky and began to look through the photos, picking each one up and studying it. They were all classy shots really, beautifully put together. She must have chosen the very best shots from her hidden camera. None of them were explicit. The most you saw were her bare arms, his bare chest with the pink scar showing up so very brightly against pale skin. Them clasped together, clearly so very, very intimate …

He wanted to hate her, wanted to fill himself with that righteous flame of loathing that had fuelled him earlier but nothing would come. He was cold and tired and the whisky was burning his throat. He lit another cigarette, stared at the pictures that he had spread out in a tableau around him. 

Slowly, he took one of the pictures and used the cigarette to burn his face out from it. He did the same to each picture, leaving as much as possible intact except for himself. It was a meaningless action. He wasn’t even sure it made him feel better. But he did it all the same, slow, steady, methodical. When he was done, he made sure none of the pictures were smouldering, threw them into the bin and went to bed, telling himself that he didn’t miss the warmth of the cats.

He dreamed he was lying in Servalan’s bed, drowning in silk. Anna was there, smiling at him and when he reached for her, she came, pressing her naked body to his, kissing him deeply as her hair tumbled over his face. Her body was so warm, so very warm and the bed was warm too and Avon found it hard to breathe but couldn’t seem to stop himself from kissing her. She was smothering him and he didn’t care, he didn’t, he would let her burn him willingly, Anna, his Anna …

“ _Avon!_ ”

Blake’s voice. Why was Blake’s voice here in the strange, hot world?

“ _Avon, wake up!_ ”

He wanted Blake to shut up. Anna was vanishing and all that was left was the uncomfortable heat and a scratchy feeling in his throat that was rapidly turning to sickness. Something was wrong, something was very, very wrong …

His first muzzy thought was that he’d made a mistake, left one of the photographs burning. Then he realised there was too much smoke for that, not enough flickering firelight and he realised that something else was burning.

“Avon!” Blake screamed at him. “Get up! The Liberator’s on fire!”

Avon staggered out of bed and immediately started coughing. Blake seized his arm and dragged him from the room. Everywhere was full of smoke, rapidly rising smoke. Avon wondered dizzily why he couldn’t hear the smoke alarm. He knew Blake had one, Blake always checked it regularly, it had been working fine …

They stumbled down the stairs together, Avon struggling to get his thoughts in some sort of order. Blake wrenched the door open and they fell out onto the cold street together, Orac scrabbling off Blake’s shoulder to wail discontentedly. Avon stared at him, then at Blake.

“Where’s Zen?”

Blake looked at him as though he’d never heard the name before. Avon didn’t stop to think. He didn’t stop to let Blake talk to him. He turned and threw himself back through the door, scrambling up the stairs and back into the smoke-filled flat.

“ _Zen!_ ”

No answer. The smoke was thickening by the minute and Avon found himself wracked with coughs. He dropped to the floor, began to crawl, suddenly aware that he had run back into a burning building to save a _cat_. What the hell was wrong with him? He’d always despised such fools before. He ought to go straight back out before the smoke got worse. God, the floor was so hot …

“Zen! Answer me, damn you!”

A faint wail from his left. He moved away that, straining his eyes against the smoke. Blake’s room.

“ _Zen!_ ”

His hands met fur and he dragged the shaking cat into his arms, clutching it tightly to his chest and trying to turn around. The smoke burned his eyes, his nostrils, his throat. He coughed helplessly, doubled up, desperately trying to suck air into his lungs. Which way? Which way was out? What had he done, what had he _done?_

Zen whimpered in his arms and Avon began to crawl. He’d find the way out. He just had to find a wall, he could do that, he had come back in for this cat and he wasn’t going to die now, not now, not like this. He’d survived before, he’d survive again, he would, he would, he would not die like this!

The door. The stairs. He half-slid down them, aware of voices outside, people shouting, screaming and one voice over all of them roaring his name; _Avon, Avon, **Avon!**_

The air was deliciously cold in his throat. He crouched by the door, rocking Zen in his arms, trying to gulp in great lungfuls of air. Someone grabbed him, shook him and he looked up into Blake’s terrified face.

“You _idiot_ , you _fool_ how could you do that, _how could you do that?_ Don’t you ever do that to me again, don’t, don’t, damn you _don’t!_ ”

Avon dropped his head, too tired to listen. He rubbed his cheek against Zen’s fur, listened to the cat’s raspy breath. Someone pulled him further away from the Liberator, someone else dropped a blanket round his shoulders. Avon let them. He sat and cuddled Zen to him and listened to the sounds of the fire and then the fire engines and the roar of hoses. He didn’t react to anything until someone gently tried to take Zen away.

“ _No!_ ”

“Avon, it’s all right.” Cally’s voice, warm and soothing. “It’s just the emergency vet, that’s all. She’s going to look at Zen and Orac, make sure they’re both okay and treated. You’ll get them back in the morning.”

He looked up into a face he didn’t know, numbly released Zen to her. He felt Cally’s hands on his shoulders, helping him up. She guided him to the ambulance where he let them poke and prod him for a few minutes, checking his heart rate and blood pressure and muttering things about taking him to hospital for observation.

“No!”

He wouldn’t go. They couldn’t make him.

“We’re all right.” Blake’s voice, weary and pacifying. “Just … just let us go to Cally’s. She lives locally, she’s had first aid training. Please, just … let us rest.”

There was an argument about this, an argument Avon didn’t listen to. He wasn’t really aware of anything until he found himself in Cally’s flat, watching her make up a sofa bed. He didn’t care that he was sharing with Blake. He didn’t care about anything. He collapsed the moment she said he could, pressed his face into a cold pillow and slept.


	6. Chapter 6

Avon woke slowly, aware that something was tickling his face and not quite sure what it was. For a moment, he thought it was Zen or Orac curling up beside his head but then he realised he could feel something heavy half-lying on him and suddenly the events of the last night came flooding back and he realised he was lying in bed with Blake, one of Blake’s arms around him and his face pressed into Blake’s curls.

A part of him wanted to jerk away at once but his body felt too heavy and besides, it would wake Blake up. Memory was coming back to him now, _he’d_ been the one to drag Blake close like this because Blake had been stirring awake every few minutes, whimpering from nightmares and waking Avon up too. It had seemed easier to let Blake press against him, feel that someone was alive and he was safe. It had apparently worked – as far as Avon knew, neither of them had woken after that.

It just meant that he was now in the rather embarrassing position of having somehow wrapped both arms around Blake and having burrowed his face into Blake’s hair.

Blake stirred and murmured something incoherent, rubbing his cheek against Avon’s chest. Avon felt himself blushing and tried to pull back. Blake stirred again and this time lifted his hair, staring rather blankly at Avon for a moment before blinking and smiling in a sheepish fashion.

“Ah. Sorry. You’re quite comfortable, you know that?”

“Nobody has ever commented on it before.”

Blake laughed and sat up, pulling away. Avon sat up too, glad that they were no longer locked together in such a disconcerted way. Blake ran his hands through his hair, leaving the curls even more rumpled than they had been before. When he looked at Avon again, all his good humour was gone.

“Oh Avon. What are we going to do?”

“Get up,” Avon said coolly, deciding to focus on practicality. “Sort out clothes.”

He realised that he was only wearing pyjama bottoms and Blake was wearing less than that although he at least had had the sense to grab a jacket when he’d woken up in the smoke-filled house. They would have to hope that somebody could provide them with something until they could get back inside – assuming there was anything to get back inside of. He had no idea how badly damaged the Liberator was.

“You’re right,” Blake said with a small smile that didn’t really reach his eyes. “All right, let’s … let’s do that. Do you want to shower first?”

Avon did. He felt grubby and his mind seemed to be crawling at a snail’s pace. He felt like he ought to be focusing on something but he wasn’t sure what.

He was getting out of the bed when Cally came out of her room. She was already fully dressed and Avon had an idea she had been sneaking around them to let them sleep. She smiled at them both.

“You’re awake. I’ll call Gan, he’s got you both some clothes. Are you both feeling well?”

“Fine,” Avon lied and went into the bathroom. He washed sweat and soot off himself, trying to focus his mind. It didn’t seem to work. He realised that he’d spent several minutes just staring at a bottle of green bubble bath mix that Cally had beside her bathtub. Blake came into the room and left him a pile of clothes which Avon put on after drying himself. They were about the right size but they didn’t feel right at all. But then, nothing really did.

When he left the bathroom, Blake went in. Gan was sitting with Cally at the breakfast table. Avon picked at some toast, not really hungry. Cally and Gan didn’t try to start any conversations with him. They sat in silence until Blake came out, dressed and still rubbing at his damp curls.

“Let’s go then,” he said quietly. “Let’s get this over with.”

They trooped out together and walked the fairly short distance to the Liberator. Avon found his feet oddly heavy. He wasn’t sure he wanted to see it.

The Liberator was still standing which he supposed had to be a good start. There was yellow hazard tape all around it but Jenna, Vila and Dayna were all on the other side of it. Jenna looked at them and tried to smile.

“They’ve okayed entry, if we want to go in. They say to be pretty careful with what we do though.”

“I bet they have,” Blake said. His own attempt at a smile was as bad as Jenna’s. Unable to look at them any more, Avon pushed past and went through the blackened and scorched door.

The inside wasn’t quite gutted but Avon supposed it might as well have been. Everything was black and charred and most of the furniture was gone. He moved over to the ruin of the counter and looked at the twisted wreck that had been the coffee machine. He wanted to feel something but he wasn’t quite sure what. Behind him, heard Blake make a noise that sounded horribly like a sob.

“It’s not so bad,” Gan’s voice was soothing. “It’ll take a lot of cleaning and repainting and furniture but we can fix this, Blake. The structural stuff honestly isn’t so bad.”

“It’s the money, Gan,” Blake said quietly. “Avon? You know the figures better than me.”

Avon closed his eyes, picturing the spreadsheets for a moment.

“You’ve got enough to fix everything,” he said bluntly. “Especially with your insurance money, assuming they pay out – I do look forward to finding out what happened to our smoke alarms – but restocking might be a problem. We will be making no money in one of your busiest times.”

Blake sighed, his shoulders slumped. 

“Do I have to sell her?”

“I don’t know,” Avon said turning away again and staring at the walls. They’d need to have it checked. They’d need to have it painted. They’d need to have furniture bought. The costs mounted up so _quickly_. And that didn’t count any damage to the upstairs which would also need fixing. The fire might not have reached there but the smoke damage, the cost of cleaning and replacing …

“We can’t just give up!” Cally, her voice fierce. “What if we lend you the money, Blake?”

“If we have any,” Vila mumbled.

“It’s not fair,” Blake said. “What if I can’t ever pay you back? If the business folds, it’s bad enough you’ll all lose your jobs without sinking your savings into the place.”

“I’d be willing to try,” Gan said.

“No. It might not make enough difference anyway,” Blake said firmly. “I can’t ask any of you to do that and I won’t.”

“Are you abandoning her then?” Jenna asked quietly.

Blake didn’t answer. Avon couldn’t look at him. He didn’t want to see the defeat that was probably there.

“Hello?”

The voice was slightly uncertain and it took Avon a moment to realise that it was Tarrant peering through their battered doorway. He smiled, a subdued version of that usual beaming grin.

“I offered to come down here in place of a superior. I couldn’t believe it when I saw the address. I’m so sorry, Blake.”

“Not as sorry as I am,” Blake said, clearly trying to inject some hope into his voice. “Do you have any news for me?”

“Nothing much yet – lab reports will take a while. They checked out the man you accused last night though.”

Avon frowned. He’d obviously missed Blake accusing somebody although it made sense. Probably Blake had been yelling about Travis to anybody who would listen. He’d have been doing the same if he’d been thinking properly. It did seem unlikely to be a coincidence. The man who had torched Blake’s home arrived in town and Blake’s business went up in smoke.

“He’s got an alibi,” Tarrant said. “Quite a good one actually – he was in bed with a lady called Servalan.”

“ _Servalan?!_ ”

Avon twisted on his feet, staring at Tarrant in shock. Tarrant looked at him.

“Heard of her, have you?”

Avon didn’t answer. His mind was suddenly spinning, throwing things at him, working faster than it had in days. He could hear Blake saying something tinged with bitterness about how they’d all come in contact with Servalan, heard Vila making a ribald comment about Avon’s connection but the words didn’t matter. Servalan and Travis, together … coincidentally as Blake’s business, the business Servalan so wanted was being torched … so many little coincidences lately … like a bottle of green bubble bath.

“Cally, where did you get that bottle of green bubble bath in your house?!”

They all stared at him as though he’d gone mad. Avon ignored them, only looking at Cally.

“It was a birthday present,” Cally said, looking more than a bit surprised.

“From who?”

A slight flush touched her cheeks and she glanced away from him.

“Del Grant.”

The answer didn’t hurt. It was the answer he’d expected her to give.

“Did it come with a green candle?”

“Yes, it did but Avon, what’s – ?”

“ _She_ gave it to him!” Avon said, every piece finally clicking together into beautiful clarity. “It wasn’t a coincidence, of course it wasn’t! Servalan arranged for him to come and work for her! She stole my present and gave it to him to give to you so he didn’t have any excuse not to go to your party!”

Now they were staring at him in a different way, mouths beginning to open, eyes beginning to widen. Avon turned and looked only at Blake now.

“Blake, _she_ set all this up! All of it! She brought Del here to distract me and she brought Travis here to hurt you! When she realised that I would never help her, she told Travis to do a repeat performance but has offered him a cast-iron alibi for it! I should have put it together before, I’m a _fool!_ ”

He was furious with himself. Why hadn’t he just _thought?_ It had all been there, all of it, stirring in his mind but he’d let himself become distracted by _feelings_ , hadn’t considered that it might be a ploy. Servalan had played a tune and he’d danced to it.

“She’ll probably spin it so you look like you’re paranoid,” he said, beginning to pace. “Accusing Travis without proof … it’s not hard to fake evidence that suggests he was with her. You can change the time on a camera code if you know how to do it.”

“I’m sorry, are you saying _Servalan_ is responsible for this?” Tarrant sounded incredulous.

“Oh yes,” Blake said softly. “Yes, there’s no depths to which Servalan wouldn’t sink.”

He reached out, touched Avon’s shoulder for a moment. Avon knew he was forgiven for his night with Servalan and automatically told himself that he didn’t want or need Blake’s forgiveness for anything. Blake didn’t give him time to say anything though. He was looking pale with anger.

“I should have seen it too. I should have _realised_ she meant to split us all apart! Divide and conquer … no doubt she’s got something lined up for the rest of you, if I am “fool” enough to try and repair the Liberator and not just give it to her on a platter.”

“You can’t give in!” Dayna spoke up, her voice passionate. “You have to keep fighting! Listen Blake, why not keep the Liberator running while you repair it? All right, it won’t be the fanciest place but you can sell coffee, maybe even cake if we can bake it off the premises. All your regulars will know why you’re doing it, they’ll support you. You won’t make much but it’ll be something, right?”

“Possibly … ” Blake frowned. “Avon?”

“Impossible to say. It depends how many people would come. Your devoted public might well fawn around you, it could be enough. Blake, what are we going to do about Servalan?”

“What can we do?” Blake asked, looking him squarely in the eye. “I don’t think we’ll be able to prove that she’s lying. I don’t think we can prove she and Travis are in it together.”

“Not without more information,” Avon murmured. His mind was whirling a mile a minute, ideas popping up to be dismissed or developed as he saw fit. “Blake, I think we should perhaps discuss this more privately … ”

Blake looked at him for a moment, then nodded his head. Tarrant frowned.

“Wait a minute. These are serious allegations that you’re making. You can’t just throw them out like that!”

“If you knew Servalan the way we do, you wouldn’t say that,” Blake said flatly. “She’s a dreadful person and she would stop at nothing to steal the Liberator from me. This? Chicken feed to her.”

Tarrant’s frown deepened. He was obviously not sure what he ought to say. Avon allowed himself a small smirk, even though nothing was very funny. Watching Tarrant and Blake face off with each other would probably be hysterical at any other time. They looked just about as stubborn as each other.

“You should really report it through proper channels,” Tarrant said. “You shouldn’t just … I don’t know.”

“It’s not something you need to worry about,” Blake said calmly. “Thank you for coming, Tarrant. It’s appreciated.” 

Tarrant looked reluctant. He looked at Avon, as though he expected Avon to do something. Avon looked back at him.

“How honest are you, Tarrant?”

“Sorry?” Tarrant said.

“Do you have general problems with lying and dishonesty?”

“I’m a policeman, Avon. Yes, I have a few problems with people being dishonest.”

“Oh well. You’d better go then.”

“I can’t go now you’ve said that! Look, you’d be better off letting all of this go through the proper channels – ”

“The proper channels are _worthless_ ,” Avon spat at him. “Servalan is clever and rich, the proper channels are on her side. She is willing to do _anything_ to get this place and if we don’t stop her, she will succeed. Do you think she’d have cared if Blake and I had died last night? The fire might not have reached us but that smoke would have done!”

For a second, he was back in the smoke-filled flat, clawing at the ground and he felt his breath catch in his throat. He turned away, trying to conceal it. He was fine. Blake was fine. The cats were fine. He would _not_ be afraid.

“I think we should take this back to Cally’s,” Blake said quietly. “Tarrant, you are welcome to join us but I think it might be better for you if you don’t. I don’t want to drag you into anything. I would appreciate your discretion in the matter.”

Tarrant paused, then nodded his head. He dug a notebook from his pocket and scrawled something on it.

“That’s my number. Give me a ring if you need me, all right? Don’t get yourselves into trouble.”

Blake just smiled a rather grim sort of smile. Avon suspected that he knew just how much trouble they were likely to get into. Perhaps Tarrant knew too. He was certainly looking worried.

“Please,” he said. “I’d like to hear from you if there’s anything I can do.”

Avon considered making a comment about how he doubted that but resisted the urge. There was no need to taunt Tarrant with the idea that they might be doing something the police wouldn’t approve of after all. Blake took the paper and patted Tarrant’s shoulder, then turned to the others.

“Cally’s then.”

“You should call Del,” Avon said. “We’re going to need him too.”

Cally nodded her head and got out her mobile phone as she walked out. The others followed. Avon took once last look around the Liberator’s interior before he followed the others. Black and smoky and … _hurt_. He _liked_ the Liberator. He had enjoyed the way it looked, the oldness, batteredness of it. He didn’t want it to change.

He _would_ make Servalan pay.

*

Del arrived at Cally’s not long after they did. He gave Avon a dirty look which Avon ignored. Right now, nothing mattered except this. Cally made them all tea which Avon ignored. He wasn’t thirsty. He didn’t want to distract himself.

He laid it all out neatly and bluntly. Servalan had clearly looked him up and discovered the connection between him and Del. She’d asked Del to work for her, manipulated him into going to Cally’s party and doubtless been highly amused by the implosion that had followed. Whilst putting _that_ iron in the fire, she’d also been tracking down Travis. 

“He probably jumped at it,” Blake said sourly. “I wonder how long he’s been wishing he could find me?”

“We’ll never know,” Avon said. “What we do know is that when Servalan realised she couldn’t use _me_ , she used _him_. I’m sure she’s sitting back right now, working out what to say to you – or waiting to see if you approach her, I wouldn’t put anything past her arrogance.”

“Neither would I.” Del sounded bitter and Avon wasn’t surprised. The Del he’d known had always loathed being used by anybody. The idea that Servalan had manipulated him so thoroughly had to rankle, particularly when it involved Avon.

“But what are we going to do?” Jenna asked. “Obviously, Blake’s not going to sell but that won’t stop her, will it?”

“No,” Avon said. “That won’t stop her. _We_ have to do that.”

“Can we prove what she did?” Dayna asked, sounding eager. “Get _her_ arrested?”

“I doubt it,” Blake said. “She’ll have covered her tracks very well indeed.”

“Oh, I think we can prove it,” Avon said, finally stopping his pacing. He looked at Blake, focusing only on him. “I _know_ I can prove it. But only illegally. I’ll need to get into her house again, get into her computers. She’s not stupid, she’ll never allow me in there again and she’d certainly never me anywhere near her computers. So we’re going to have to break the law.”

He found himself smiling at he said it, a cold, humourless smile. Blake’s eyes were blazing in his face. The resolve was clear, Blake knew that Avon was right. Blake would help him do what had to be done.

He glanced at the others. Vila was looking scared, Cally cool and unreadable. Jenna was frowning slightly and Gan was actively scowling.

“This sounds dangerous,” Dayna said, sounding rather excited about it.

“Well,” Avon said. “That may depend on how … helpful … others are willing to be.”

He looked at Del. Del stared back at him, eyes cold and unreadable. Avon could guess what he was thinking. He was angry that Servalan had used him … but he didn’t want to be used by Avon, either.

“Let’s hear the plan first,” Blake said quietly. “Then we’ll see what we can do.”

Avon looked at him again. It occurred to him that the plan he was about to suggest would put his neck on the line. Oh, Blake and the others would be behind him, Del might be at his side if it came out the way he hoped but if they were caught, he would be the one in trouble. It wasn’t too late for him to withdraw from his. Wasn’t too late to make something else up, think of a private revenge for Servalan.

But no. No, it was far too late for that.

Taking a deep breath, he began to out-line his idea. The others argued, Gan the most. In the end, Blake silenced them all with a simple wave of his hand. He looked at Avon.

“We’ll do it.”

It was all he said. Nobody else argued after that. Avon finally looked at Del again. Del’s eyes were still cold and Avon wondered if he were making a mistake. He was trusting himself, in part, to Del Grant, a man that loathed him.

But a man who cared for Blake.

He’d have to hope that the power Blake had would be enough to protect him.


	7. Chapter 7

Avon sat in the back of the car feeling surprisingly excited.

He’d forgotten how this felt. The adrennaline rush of knowing you were about to go into danger, the knowledge that you were doing something illegal and that you might get into real trouble if you were caught and the solid certainty that he would _not_ be caught because he was Kerr Avon and he knew what he was doing.. He hadn’t done anything like this since Anna and it was … well. He hadn’t realised that he’d missed it.

Beside him, Blake was looking surprisingly calm, so calm that Avon wondered if Blake might have got involved with law breaking before. It wouldn’t absolutely surprise him – Blake was the sort of person who wouldn’t bat an eyelid at something if he thought it was morally justified. And this clearly was – at least, in Blake’s eyes. Avon didn’t particularly care if it was or not. He was just angry.

Footsteps from outside the car and then the door opened and Vila had scrambled in, a little box in hand, looking flushed and cheerful.

“Done! It’ll be going off any minute now.”

“Good,” Blake said softly. “Well done, Vila.”

“Oh, it’s all in a day’s work, you know,” Vila said, completely failing to sound modest. Avon considered trying to knock him down a peg or two but he was too adrenaline-filled to bother. Vila was a useful man to have around, although Avon was loathe to admit it. He might be ridiculous but he was also right about his skills.

The phone that Jenna had leant Blake buzzed with a text message. Blake looked at it and smiled a grim sort of smile.

“Jenna and Dayna have met up with Servalan.”

Avon nodded, a touch of unease hitting him. He hadn’t been sure about that part of the plan. Jenna had suggested it, pointing out that Servalan needed to be kept out of the way whilst they were in her house and a lengthy dinner wasn’t a bad method. Vila was needed with them, Cally had been judged not good enough at acting for the role and Gan was obviously completely wrong for it. Jenna was an excellent actress and Dayna was new – both of them might be thinking of turning on Blake to save their own skins. But Avon didn’t really like it, all the same. He felt it was drawing attention to them in a way that could be detrimental later. But in the end, Blake had made the final choice and this had been it. They would just have to hope it worked.

“All right,” Blake said quietly. “You don’t have to wait Vila, if you don’t want to. You can go home.”

Vila shrugged, looking uneasy at the thought of it. He had acted the coward at Cally’s house, fussing and whimpering and asking if somebody else couldn’t do his part. Of course, they couldn’t and he’d jumped at the actual moment – but now was obviously retreating back into himself. Avon wasn’t quite sure why. Why play a coward when you weren’t one?

The phone buzzed again, this time with a call. Blake answered it, listened for a moment, then nodded to Avon.

“That was Grant. It’s time to go in.”

Avon got out of the car, looking at himself to make sure he looked all right. Cally had found them the clothes with just one phone call. She knew a lot of people, people who wouldn’t ask why she needed clothes that looked like they were for maintenance men with hats that they could pull relatively low over their faces. Blake followed him, taking the bag that held their tools. They walked calmly down the road, as though they had every right to be there. Avon would have liked to have a van but that would have taken too long to acquire so the would simply have to walk.

Del Grant was at the gates, looking calm. He smiled and waved for the man in charge to let them in.

“They’re here to sort out the electric troubles.”

The man rolled his eyes and let them in. Del nodded to them.

“All our cameras and alarm systems went off-line about an hour ago,” he said, as though they didn’t know. “The rest of the electrics seem to be fine so we’re not sure what the problem is. I thought you two could sort it out.”

“Oh, we’ll do what we can,” Blake said lightly. Avon managed to keep his face straight but it was a difficult task. Yes, they would indeed.

Del led them through the front doors. Avon felt rather odd walking through them again. The last time he’d entered this house, he had been thinking quite different thoughts, thoughts he did not want to dwell on. Damn Servalan. Damn her and her tricks and damn himself for being weak in the face of them.

“This way,” Del said, his voice carrying for the benefit of any listeners. “I hope you’ll be able to sort it out from here … ”

The door he opened led into what was obviously a security room, computer banks neatly on the side. Del led them to a computer that was in the corner – carefully chosen so that nobody could see what Avon was doing on it. Not that anybody else was currently in there.

“I told them they could go out for something to eat,” Del said, voice soft now. “No point us all wasting our time while things weren’t working. They should stay out for at least fifteen minutes, perhaps longer. I can’t guarantee anything.”

“I’ll keep an eye on the door,” Blake said quietly. “I’ll say if anybody is coming. Avon, can you do what you need to from in here?”

Avon sat down in front of the computer. Del had already typed in his password, giving him easy access.

“Are all the computers linked?”

“Yes. And security footage is all on those computers. Stored in a connected cloud.”

Avon began to type, eyes fixed on the computer screen in front of him. This was going to be a challenge, he could tell. Del could get him in so far but only so far. And he didn’t want Servalan to know he’d been there, at least, not until it was necessary. Which eventually it would be but he didn’t want her to have any time to prepare.

If she had time to prepare, she might well find the time to have him arrested. Avon intended to avoid that.

He was uncomfortably aware of Del staring at him as he worked. He tried to push it aside, tried only to see the computer screen before him. There was no point thinking, no point fretting. This needed to be his only reality.

Oh, it _was_ a challenge. He found himself smiling at the screen, twisting his lips as he worked. He hadn’t had such fun in … a long while.

“You’re enjoying this.” There was accusation in Del’s tone.

“It has been a while since I had something so complicated to work on,” he said, keeping his voice even and his eyes fixed on the computer screen.

“You always enjoyed the chase, didn’t you?”

He hoped his face was impassive. He didn’t think what Del was implying was fair but what did it matter what he thought? Del had had years to come to his own conclusions, restructure the past into an image that he preferred. What good would it do for Avon to try and explain anything? Explaining things didn’t change anything. It never helped …

“I should have known,” Del said, his voice bitter. “When she told me you were committing embezzlement, I didn’t think much of it. I’m not a saint. But you had to keep pushing it, didn’t you? Getting into bigger schemes for more money. But despite that, I really thought you cared about her. I really _believed_ in you.”

“I cared about her.”

It didn’t express what he felt. Nothing could have expressed what he’d felt about Anna. He didn’t want to talk about it. He never wanted to talk about it.

“Then why did you leave her?!”

Despite the rage, Del’s voice was still quiet. Still focused on what they had to do. Avon did the same, staring at the computer screen, watching the results of his work.

“I didn’t mean to. I wanted to come back for her. I didn’t have a choice.”

“Bollocks. There’s always a choice. You took the money and ran!”

“I didn’t take the money. I didn’t run. You don’t know what happened, Del.”

Del snorted and Avon knew he was waiting. Waiting for Avon to explain, sure that Avon couldn’t. Waiting to hear the impossible.

“Anna did send me out for the money,” he said, noticing that his voice was flat, expressionless. “We’d been getting it out for a while. It was the last instalment. We were supposed to be picking it up in the morning but Anna wanted me to fetch it then.”

She’d been nervous, he’d known that. He remembered trying to reassure her, holding her in his arms, stroking her hair. She’d prodded him in the chest.

“Don’t get sloppy, Avon. Getting sloppy will get us caught, you know that.”

“I do. All right. If you want me to get the money tonight, I will. We shall sleep on a mattress of banknotes tonight.”

She’d laughed and kissed him. Their last kiss.

“I went to the pick-up point. It was quite a way from the flat – we’d been careful, very careful. There couldn’t be a pattern. The money was there. I took it. I was heading back to the flat. We were going to be so rich … ”

He was furious at himself for the last sentence. Why reminisce over what hadn’t happened? Del wanted the story, he didn’t need anything but the story. He didn’t need the pain, the loss.

“I had miscalculated. I did not realise that there was a possibility I might be mugged.”

Mugged. Oh, it was so _stupid_ , so _random_. He’d been walking through the back street, hadn’t even realised anybody was there until one of them had stepped out in front of him and demanded anything he was carrying. The others had come up behind, forming a circle. He’d offered his wallet but they had wanted more and they had been willing to become violent to try and get it. 

“Mugged?” Del sounded sceptical.

“Yes. They … searched me, took the money. I fought back. It was stupid. One of them stabbed me.”

He had hardly realised it had happened at first. He’d fought them all the way, kicking and struggling, loathing the helplessness of having his arms pinned, of feeling their hands going through his pockets, snatching his bag. He’d managed to wriggle lose, continued to fight. One of the thieves had been struggling with him and then the teenager had punched him in the side. He remembered feeling shockingly breathless, thought the punch had just been a strong one. Then the teenager had pulled back and one of the others had started swearing and Avon had found himself sitting down without knowing why. He’d thought it was so stupid, told himself to get up, to stop being weak and then …

The scar twinged at the memory.

“They fled, of course. They didn’t want to go down for murder. I … got up. I knew I had to get home.”

It had been so hard to stand. So hard and then the pain had started, a blazing burn inside his side, radiating through him. Every step had been dizzy agony and he’d wanted to pull the blade out, except that would be stupid wouldn’t it, he didn’t want to lose more blood but it hurt, it hurt so much … but Anna, he needed to get back to Anna, he still had some of the money hidden in his clothes and she needed him, he needed to get back to her …

“I collapsed before I got there. Someone must have found me, called an ambulance. I don’t really know. I was unconscious for thirty hours.”

He remembered lying on the ground, cross with himself because his legs didn’t seem to be working. Ridiculous, of course they were working and he was going to get up. Of course he was. He had to get back to Anna, he couldn’t just lie here and look at the sky. He was going to get up. _He was going to get up_.

Only he hadn’t, And the next time he’d opened his eyes, he’d been in a hospital, attached to a drip. All alone. He’d panicked, struggled into his ruined, blood-stained clothes and fled, punching a doctor who had got in the way. It had been a wild, animal reaction but the correct one, as it turned out. The warrant had already been out for his arrest.

“You could have come back for her.” Del’s voice was soft, tortured.

“I would have done. But Tynus wouldn’t let me.”

Bile surged in his throat and for a second, he thought he was going to lose control. He shouldn’t have gone to hide with Tynus. He should have thought of something, planned something. But he’d been in so much pain, so confused and cold and lost. Tynus had helped him, taken care of him – and kept the information of what was happening to Anna secret until it was too late.

He hadn’t realised. He’d been so _stupid_ when he’d thought he’d been so clever. Taking money was all well and good but taking money from the wrong people … that drew the wrong attention. Attention from agencies, people who could talk to the police. People who wouldn’t just stop at arrest to get information.

And he’d been too late. If he’d known … if he’d thought of a way to get Anna to safety, thought of something … and he should have thought, he should have _made_ Tynus tell him the truth. Shouldn’t have been so weak, let his injury overwhelm him. Shouldn’t have trusted. Shouldn’t have waited.

But then Anna had died. Killed herself, the papers had said. Killed herself in custody. And Avon had read every paper and known that he’d lost the only thing that had made his life worth living.

“I would have saved her, Del. I didn’t … I would have saved her.”

Del said nothing. Avon kept his eyes on the screen. He’d found his way into the security footage, was downloading anything useful. While that was happening, he continued his attempts to hack into Servalan’s more personal files. He guessed that some of the things he would have liked to see would be on a separate computer, not connected to the Internet – it was what he had done in times past with information that he wanted to be secure. But there were plenty of things that he could get just through her E-mail … if he could make his way into it, anyway. Servalan’s passwords weren’t anything obvious.

“Avon.” Blake’s voice was soft. He’d almost forgotten the man was there. “We’re nearly out of time. Jenna’s sent me a text. Servalan is on the way back.”

Avon scowled, staring at the computer. He was close, he could feel it. He wasn’t going to stop, not now. He could get this. Everything they could get would be inportant. It might be the difference between losing the Liberator and not.

“Avon.”

“Stop distracting me, Blake!”

He stared at the code in front of him, pressing his lips together. He hadn’t finished. He was not leaving this place until he had _finished_.

Half of him was waiting for Blake to speak again but Blake didn’t. When Del began, Blake calmly shushed him. He had obviously decided that if Avon wanted more time, Avon would have it. Avon found himself smiling slightly, although he wasn’t sure why.

He downloaded everything, then turned the computer off, leaving no sign of his presence.

They walked out together, not looking at anybody, as they’d agreed. Avon could hear the guards talking about how the cameras were working again, obvious relief in their voices. They didn’t know that Avon had set a small loop in place, just long enough for them to get away. It would be rather stupid to be filmed leaving after all the trouble they had gone to avoid being seen.

Del escorted them to the gates. He didn’t say anything but when he looked at Avon, it was a different look to the one that Avon had received when he had first arrived. Avon wasn’t sure how he felt. He _ought_ to feel relief but instead … instead, he just felt sadness. Del’s acceptance would change nothing. It wouldn’t bring Anna back. It wouldn’t make up for the emptiness. Yes, he could admit it. His life had been empty, devoid of anything except the jobs that he’d struggled to hold onto. He had been … lost.

The idea that his life was no longer empty tried to curl warmly through him. He pushed the thought away. Sentimental drivel. As though _Blake_ and his idiots could _possibly_ fill a void of Avon’s. It was impossible.

Vila was still in the car, gnawing on his fingernails and looking anxious. He practically bounced when he saw them and even tried to give Avon a hug. Avon fended him off expertly and look the memory stick from his pocket.

“Yes, we have what we need,” he said. “Did Jenna and Dayna get away all right?”

“Jenna called. Have you called her yet? She said you hadn’t answered her text.”

“We were slightly delayed,” was all Blake said. “Let’s go.”

Vila drove them back, bubbling all the way. He wanted to go through everything, wanted to remember his excellent work, wanted to know exactly what Avon had done. Avon didn’t answer most of the questions. He was suddenly exhausted, desperately so. He wanted Vila to shut up. He wanted to go _home_.

But home was gone again and they were pulling up in front of Cally’s flat. They went up the stairs where Cally, Gan, Jenna and Dayna were waiting for them. Jenna yelled at Blake for not answering her text. Dayna was bubbling at how they had pulled the wool over Servalan’s eyes. Gan was just looking rather disapproving. Avon sat quietly on one of the chairs and lifted Zen onto his lap, scratching the cat behind his ears.

It took him a moment to realise exactly what he was doing. He looked up and saw Cally smiling at him.

“Zen is all clear,” she said. “I went to pick him up. Orac is still there. Orac needs a little extra care. Blake, did you realise that Orac is a girl?”

“Don’t be silly,” Blake said.

“The vet says Orac is a girl, Blake. The vet says that Orac is going to have kittens.”

Blake blinked, a wonderfully gormless expression on his face. Avon stared at him, about to produce a suitably withering comment about not even noticing the sex of your own cat when it occurred to him that he’d had Orac sleeping on his bed for months and never noticed either. Perhaps better to remain silent.

Relatively silent.

“Well,” he said. “Jenna _did_ say Orac was gaining weight … ”

“I bet the father is that awful tom cat, Imipak,” Blake said, sounding grumpy. “I _told_ Rashel to neuter him. They’ll be the grumpiest kittens ever born.”

Zen purred happily. Avon snorted and scratched behind the ears again.

“You won’t be so happy when there’s noisy kittens climbing all over you.”

The image actually made him laugh. Blake grinned too and shrugged his shoulders.

“Oh well. Does anybody want a kitten?”

It was more relaxed after that. Everyone was suddenly talking about cats and kittens and cuddly things. Avon continued to pet Zen for a while until his hands were too heavy to move any more. He realised with some embarrassment that he was beginning to doze off but was too tired to really care. Blake suddenly announced his own exhaustion and Avon guessed that it was a ruse on his behalf. He would have to remember to tell Blake that he was an idiot later. 

Cally chased everyone out and set out their sofa bed again. Zen snuggled down between them and Avon closed his eyes, expecting sleep to come easily.

Somehow, it didn’t. Now he was lying down and it was dark, the day was suddenly too close. Del Grant’s face in his mind, Del and … Anna. He hated talking about Anna. He hated remembering. Life would be better if you didn’t remember, if you could just erase it all from your mind and never think again, not feel the pain, if he could only make it so that he never had to feel _pain_.

But despite his best efforts, it still hurt. Still gnawed inside him. He’d failed. He’d loved her and he’d failed her. 

“Avon?”

He automatically lay still, pretended to be asleep. He didn’t want to talk to Blake, not about anything, certainly not about Anna. Blake would think he could understand, pretend he did but Avon couldn’t. He just … couldn’t.

“Avon.”

Blake put a hand on his shoulderblade. Avon stopped himself from moving. He was asleep. He _was_ asleep. Blake stroked, then shifted and suddenly, Avon was being held in a rough embrace, wrapped in Blake’s warmth. He supposed he ought to pull away, shake Blake off but he was cold and tired and Blake’s weight was a reassurance somehow. A distraction. This time when he closed his eyes, he didn’t think about Anna. He thought about Blake and the Liberator and how if he were going to help paint the walls, he was certainly due for a bonus and somewhere in the middle of that, he fell asleep.

He woke up early in the morning and eased himself out of Blake’s arms before Blake stirred. Zen was still asleep too, shifting his paws slightly in a cat-version of a dream. Avon went into the bathroom to wash and shave and dress. Gan had acquired them more clothing. Avon wasn’t absolutely sure what he had ever done to make Gan think that he wanted to wear lobster red leather but he had to admit, there was something striking about the suit once he was wearing it.

Cally was making breakfast when he emerged and she smiled at him. Blake was sitting up, looking tousle-headed and slightly surprised that it was morning.

“Lots to do,” he said. “Is that _really_ what you want to wear, Avon?”

“For meeting Servalan? Yes.”

Blake’s eyes hardened at the mention of the name. He got out of bed.

“When will you make the call?” Avon asked him.

“Once we’re in the Liberator, I think. Give her somewhere obvious to meet us.”

Blake washed and dressed and they ate in silence. Avon used to Cally’s computer to look at what he had and then printed off a few choice things that he was pretty sure would make Servalan flinch. She wouldn’t feel shame, just anger. Avon didn’t think that Servalan was capable of shame.

When they reached the Liberator, Gan was already there, stripping the walls. Vila was on hands and knees, scrubbing the floor and muttering about how he didn’t like hard work. Dayna had dragged out the ruined furniture and was looking at it.

“I don’t think it’s fixable,” she said as they approached. “Tarrant might be able to dispose of it cheaply for us – he _is_ a policeman after all.”

“Good thinking,” Blake said, smiling at her. “Give him a call. Is Jenna here?”

“No, she’s getting emergency supplies so we can sell coffee, tea and biscuits. If it works, Gan will start cakes and sandwiches tomorrow.”

Blake’s smile was huge. Avon rolled his eyes. 

“Call Servalan,” he said. “Let’s finish this.”

Blake’s smile faded. He nodded his head and took out his phone, moving away from them to dial the number. Avon went up the stairs to find some furniture to bring down.

The upstairs was smoke-blackened but intact. Everything would need washing and airing and the walls would either need paper or paint. It would be a while before they could live in it again but Avon could tell that they would be back.

He got some chairs downstairs, arranging them so they could sit comfortably. Jenna had arrived with various urns and packages which she began to set out with help from Cally. Avon found he couldn’t settle. He prowled the room, kicking things aside, wishing that Servalan would just hurry up. He wanted this sorted.

Of course, Servalan arrived in style, striding into the shop in her white fur coat, smile on her face. She didn’t even glance at Avon, apparently feeling he was beneath her dignity. Avon couldn’t help smirking at that. She would shortly learn how wrong she was.

“Blake. How delightful to see you, even under such terrible circumstances. Such a pity to see the Liberator in such dire straits. I see you’re trying to clean it up?”

“Yes,” Blake said, his tone very even. “Did you think I was calling you to give up, Servalan? After what you’ve done?”

“Done? Now Blake, that’s paranoia, don’t you think? Why would I possibly do something like this?”

She was smirking as she spoke.

“Because you’re ruthless,” Blake said, still quite calm and cold. “Because you’d stop at nothing to get what you want. But you’ll never have the Liberator. And you will leave me alone?”

“Will I? Blake, be reasonable. I could offer you so much more than the Liberator is currently worth – ”

She stopped speaking. Blake was holding out one of the print outs. He let it flutter to the floor to reveal the next and then the next. He was smiling now.

“Something wrong, Servalan? Don’t you like being hoist by your own petard? Don’t enjoy seeing your dirty laundry aired in public? We’ve got more too, plenty more. You underestimated me. And you certainly underestimated my friends.”

Servalan whipped round to look at Avon. Avon allowed himself his most twisted smile and shrugged his shoulders.

“Is something wrong, Servalan?”

“You!” Her voice was full to the brim with hate. “ _You_ did this!”

Avon shrugged polite acknowledgement. Jenna gave a soft laugh.

“Maybe you should have thought about that,” she said, her voice sweet.

Servalan’s eyes snapped with impotent rage. Blake shrugged and let the rest of the paper fall.

“If you leave us alone, we’ll stop this becoming public,” he said.

“Public!” Servalan snapped, obviously trying to find some way to fight back. “Why should I fear such obvious forgeries? It would never stand up in court! What illegal methods did you use to acquire such information?”

“Does it matter?” Blake asked. “I’d rather go down with you than let you win, Servalan. Oh, it might not stand up in court but I think there’s a lot of people who would pay well to have this information to use against you. There’s enough that would stain you. And there are people who would be furious that this information was released about them, would take it out on you. You know that we could damage you with this.”

Servalan didn’t speak. Yes, she _did_ know it. Avon allowed his smile to widen and saw a mirroring smile on Blake’s face.

“Leave, Servalan. Leave me. Leave my friends. If think you’re trying to do anything to them, then I will make you pay with everything that I have.”

Servalan stared at him for a moment, her nostrils flaring. Then she turned and stormed from the Liberator in a swirl of fur. Blake stared after her for a moment, then smiled.

“That’s that.”

“She’ll come back,” Avon said quietly. “You know she will. This will stop some of her schemes but not all. She’ll want to bring us down just because we’ve defeated her.”

“I don’t care,” Blake said calmly. “We’ll defeat her again. As long as we’re together, we’ll all be all right.”

It was ridiculous. But something about the way he said it, the way that he clearly believed it … Avon could almost believe it too.


	8. Chapter 8

The Liberator had been decorated for Christmas.

Avon thought it was a pointless waste of time and money, given how much they still had to do. They still hadn’t finished all the painting, the furniture was … eclectic to say the least and they didn’t have a proper fridge. But Blake had insisted.

“Everybody loves Christmas. Christmas is special, it’s a time for family and celebration. I’m having everywhere decorated the way it should be.”

There had been no arguing with that statement so Avon had given up and satisfied himself with loud comments about how ridiculous it was whenever Jenna brought in tinsel or Cally hung baubles everywhere or Vila brought in mistletoe.

“If you try to kiss me under that, I will make you thoroughly sorry,” Avon informed him.

“Spoilsport,” Vila said amiably, hanging up a big clump over the door. “Everybody likes getting a kiss under the mistletoe. It’s no fun if you veto it.”

Vila obviously intended to veto nobody. He’d kissed Gan, Blake, Jenna and Dayna by the end of the day. None of them seemed very displeased by it which Avon thought could only be a sign of madness. He wasn’t going to let any of them kiss him. 

The customers seemed to like it though. They seemed to like all the Liberator’s clumsy decorations and the mismatched chairs and the rather rough and ready coffee that was being produced. Avon had been a little surprised by how many people had come to them – not just the old faces but new people. A look on the Internet had revealed that somebody had started a webpage to bring in support. The locals were also collecting money which inspired Avon to put out a collecting tin of their own.

“We can’t ask them to give money!” Blake said, looking rather horrified. “They’re buying things from us, it’s not fair.”

“They don’t have to donate, Blake. They can do as they please. We need the money.”

“Anything that doesn’t go on the Liberator goes to charity,” Blake said firmly and Avon knew there would be absolutely no getting around that. He found he didn’t mind too much. He’d manage until they were making proper money again. Blake knew that he owed him and Avon knew that Blake honoured his debts. They were alike in that respect.

Del Grant had come to visit them a few times to help them with various repairs. He’d said little to Avon and Avon hadn’t tried to start any conversations. He didn’t think he could ever be Del’s friend, not now. They shared too much pain. The knowledge that things could never be how they were was just a little extra touch of it, a snowflake on top of a mountain. But they knew where they stood and Avon supposed that was good enough.

“I’m going to invite him to the Christmas party,” Blake had said lightly. “Do you mind?”

“Why should I care?”

Blake had had the decency not to answer that question. He’d just nodded and given Avon his knowing smile. Avon pretended not to notice it. Too much of Blake’s knowing grin made him want to break things. Namely Blake’s teeth.

Tarrant was invited to the Christmas party too. Avon supposed in a grudging way that it was only fair. The man had proved useful, helping them throw things out and find things and helping out sometimes. The fact that he was utterly annoying seemed to have passed everybody else by, except Jenna. Whenever Tarrant was talking utter rubbish, Jenna would look at Avon and they would both roll their eyes. Avon was rather hoping that Jenna might smack Tarrant one day. Or possibly that Blake would finally snap and engage Tarrant in a rather loud conversation about police brutality. It could only be a matter of time. 

Avon just hoped he would be there to see it. 

He finished tallying their money. He didn’t want to count their chickens but if they kept making money like this in January, they would be almost out of the woods. The Liberator was in good shape now. They could afford the last few renovations, perhaps even stretch it to fixing the upstairs. Avon was growing tired of living with Cally. He liked _her_ \- it was sleeping on a sofa bed that he couldn’t stand, having no space of his own. At least he wasn’t sharing with Blake any more - Blake was currently staying with Jenna. They’d all agreed it was better than three people living in Cally’s fairly small apartment. Avon was damned if he would tell anybody but he found he actually rather _missed_ living with Blake. 

Stockholm Syndrome. It was the only explanation.

He still had Zen and Orac though. Jenna hadn’t wanted them living in her flat, particularly as Orac was heavily pregnant. They were expecting the kittens any day now. Avon planned to keep one of them. He hadn’t told Blake yet but he doubted Blake would mind.

He paused for a moment before heading up the stairs. He hadn’t been back in the flat since that night, although Blake had been up a few times, mostly to collect things. Avon wasn’t sure why he had delayed the moment. He just had. Going up now was faintly difficult. The staircase was still smudged with smoke and there was water damage. The home was the last part to be fixed, of course. They needed their business more than they needed it.

Blake was standing in the middle of the room, hands on his hips. He hadn’t bothered to turn on the lights. The place smelt of smoke and soot and neglect and Avon felt slightly uncomfortable.

“Why haven’t you turned the light on, Blake?”

“Hm? Oh, hello Avon. I was just … thinking.”

“Doubtless a novel experience for you. I’ve counted the money. We’re doing well.”

“Of course we are.” Blake turned to him and smiled at him. “People have really come through for us. Everybody has really helped us.”

“Well, don’t think I’m doing it for charity, Blake.”

“Never,” Blake said. He held out his hand and Avon handed him bag of money. Blake nodded, then looked around the room again. Avon wondered uneasily if Blake was feeling depressed. If he was hoping Avon might comfort him, he would be disappointed. He was about to turn and walk away when Blake spoke.

“I wanted to thank you, Avon.”

“Don’t bother,” he said automatically. “If I didn’t think we could succeed, I wouldn’t have helped you.”

“Oh, of course,” Blake said. There was the sound of a smile in his voice which Avon found annoying but decided to ignore. “But I still owe you thanks.”

“You don’t, Blake. If you want to express pleasure, you can keep a note of just how much money you owe me.”

“Probably the same amount you owed me for rent,” Blake said easily. He looked at Avon and Avon managed to keep his face straight. 

“I don’t know what you mean Blake.”

“Of course not.” Blake’s grin was big and Avon automatically shied away from it. 

“Well, if you have nothing else to say, Blake, I shall go downstairs.”

He had turned to go when Blake spoke again, his voice soft.

“Avon. I … in the new year, I’m hoping to turn this into our home again.”

That was all he said. It was all he needed to say. Avon didn’t say anything in response and Blake didn’t expect him to. They headed back down the stairs and into the Liberator in silence. The main room was decked out in a lot of Christmas lights that Blake had spent a lot of time stringing up a few days earlier. Jenna and Cally had pushed some tables together and Gan was laying out the plates. Avon eyed the iced Christmas biscuits with some distaste. They were shaped like snowmen mostly. Apparently, everybody liked the snowmen the best from past years. Avon suspected it was more likely that snowmen were just the easiest.

Blake moved over and playfully lifted Dayna away from the sandwiches she was about to sample. Dayna laughed and kicked at him, twisting out of his hands. Tarrant looked slightly grumpy, probably wishing that he could man-handle Dayna like that. He probably didn’t have a chance – after all, it was as obvious that he was interested in Dayna as it was that Blake _wasn’t_ interested in Dayna.

As he watched Blake and Dayna play the fool, he suddenly spotted Vila sidling towards him with a hopeful expression. Avon immediately took a sidestep out from under the mistletoe that he’d accidentally stood under and shot Vila a cold look. Vila just grinned.

“Next time.”

“ _Never_ , Vila.”

Vila just laughed, apparently unworried by Avon’s tone. He moved away to annoy Cally instead and Avon quietly moved over to the table to help himself to some of the food. He found himself standing next to Del and pretended not to have noticed. Del glanced at him.

“I’m going to be leaving in the new year,” he said, his voice almost conversational. “I’ve got a new job.”

“Congratulations,” Avon said mildly. He knew that Del had been looking – after all, it wasn’t as though Del could have stayed with Servalan. He had resigned his post. Blake had warned him that Servalan might try to come after him but Del wasn’t worried. He’d always liked to like dangerously. Avon was sure he’d be all right. Even with someone like Servalan after him.

They hadn’t heard anything from Servalan for a while. Avon didn’t let himself celebrate over that. She’d be back, probably with Travis in tow and they were dangerous enemies to have. They’d never managed to prove how the fire had started and Avon was sure they never would. Travis had got away and with Servalan egging on his grudge, he’d doubtless foster a greater hate for Blake than before. There was nothing anybody could do about it. They’d just have to be more prepared in future.

“Are you going to stay here?” Del asked, dragging him back to the present.

“Until something better comes along.” The answer came out automatically. Del looked at him, a proper look in the face and then rolled his eyes. For a moment, it was as though they were back, friends again, as though nothing had ever happened between them. Del had always been good at understanding Avon. It was something Avon hadn’t always liked but right then, it suddenly felt … good.

“Of course,” was all Del said, in a dry tone of voice. 

They left it at that. Neither of them liked emotional speeches, neither of them wanted to find other things to say. Better like this, both of them knowing that the hate was gone and although they couldn’t forget, they could at least let Anna’s spectre rest in peace between them. Del went to talk to Cally and Avon stayed by the table, watching them all. He felt almost comfortable here. 

At least, comfortable enough to stay.

Blake picked up one of the glasses of what Avon guessed was a champagne substitute and coughed slightly. Everybody looked at him and Blake smiled.

“It’s been a difficult year,” he said and then paused to allow the snorts and laughter to subside. “For all sorts of reasons. But I wanted to thank you all. You’ve all stood by me – stood by the Liberator when we needed you. I couldn’t have asked for a better crew. For better friends. We’re not out of the woods yet but we’re nearly there and without all of you, it wouldn’t have been possible. I’ll never forget what you’ve all done for me.”

It was a short speech, for Blake. He smiled that big, glowing smile of his and then held up his glass.

“To the Liberator and all who serve in her.”

“You make her sound like a battleship,” Avon informed him witheringly, as he lifted his own glass.

“Sometimes it feels like that, doesn’t it?” Blake said, his voice light. Avon just twitched an eyebrow at him. 

“To the Liberator!” Jenna said.

“The Liberator!”

Avon allowed his glass to clink with the rest before sipping it. He had been right, it wasn’t champagne, just fizzy wine but it was surprisingly nice all the same.

To the Liberator, then.

There were far, far worse places to be.


End file.
